Injured
by Amanda Kitswell
Summary: Arais Amell is on a search for the man she lost years ago. Thanks to Gwyneth Hawke and her merry band of misfits, however, finding him is only the beginning of her problems. F!Amell/Alistair, F!Hawke/Fenris, bits of Isabela/Merrill
1. Chapter 1: Discovered

_Injured. As in me. As in _ow_! - Alistair_

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><p><em>Oh, son of a bitch<em>.

Arais turned on her heel, pulling her staff from her back as she did. She had thought the Deep Roads were bad, but Kirkwall nights were worse, hands down. Tonight Lowtown was offering up a scattering of men leading a pack of overly aggressive Mabari. She let out a blast of energy as half a dozen hounds surrounded her, moving out of the pack before unleashing a fireball into the main group. She refocused on the Mabari and froze them solid with a wave of ice, but as a group of reinforcements leapt from the rooftop of the Hanged Man, Arais realized she was going to be overwhelmed.

Just then, the door to the Hanged Man flew open, and no sooner had a few of the men turned their heads to face the new threat than an arrow tore its way through three of the gang members' hearts, and a small group of Mabari began fighting amongst themselves. Releasing another blast of energy that flung back the three men attempting to surround her, Arais took the brief respite as an opportunity to eye her unexpected ally. Before she could focus, however, a bolt of lightning blinded her as it streamed from the doorway, skimming past her arm and raising her hair on end.

She blinked rapidly and refocused her attention as a strong jaw latched down on her thigh. Rotating her staff in a flourish, she put all her strength into a downward thrust, impaling the Mabari's skull with the bladed end. Arais used her injured leg to hold down the Mabari's head as she unsheathed her weapon from its skull, not even flinching at the pain it inflicted on her own wound.

Suddenly, Arais heard Lowtown become blissfully silent as the last remnants of one of her ally's tempests fizzled and died. She turned from the corpse of the Mabari and stared at the strangers who had aided her. The light from the torches was hardly sufficient for her to get a good look, but she could easily make out a woman surrounded by a dwarf, an elf, and a man—clearly a mage. The dwarf looked like every other dwarf, only oddly dressed and missing a beard. The elf had strikingly white hair that clashed pleasantly with dark skin, which was glowing with markings that Arais sensed lyrium in. The man was exceedingly familiar to her, but in the poor lighting of the streets she was unable to place him.

Lifting her robes above the wound on her thigh, Arais let her hand hover above it as a shimmering blue light swirled around the teeth marks, knitting them together with ethereal sutures. The pain eased instantly as the last of the marks disappeared, and she sighed, wishing she could use magic to mend the tears in her robes as well. She straightened and returned her attention to the group waiting by the entrance to the Hanged Man.

"Wonderful, _another_ mage," the elf said bitterly, every syllable dripping disdain.

"Seems I'm not the only one that attracts trouble in Kirkwall," the woman, clearly leading the group, said in an amused tone. The elf's comment didn't seem to faze her in the least.

"It's a curse I've had to deal with for over four years," Arais lamented. "I thank you for your assistance. You have impeccable timing—"

"Gwyneth, though everyone just calls me Hawke."

Hawke reached out a hand, which Arais accepted promptly. "Perhaps you can help me. I'm looking for someone."

"It depends on the person. Four years in Kirkwall and I still can't tell all the dwarves apart."

"Except me, of course," the dwarf said in a mock-offended voice.

"Of course, Varric." Turning her head to look down at him, Hawke added, "I could never mistake you for another dwarf. You're the only one without a beard. Besides Sandal, anyway." The dwarf laughed, and she turned back to address Arais. "Anyway, you were saying?"

"Well, I'm not looking for any dwarves. I'm actually looking for a Grey Warden. Well, a former Grey Warden." Arais noticed the man directly behind Hawke tense, and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. His identity was now on the very edge of discovery, but she still couldn't place him definitively.

"Does this 'former Grey Warden' have a name? Do you, for that matter?"

Hawke's voice had now taken on a protective, guarded tone, and it was then that Arais was able to place the man in the shadows behind Hawke. "Anders? Is that you?"

"Yes, it is." Anders paused for a moment, then, "Maker, Arais? I can't believe I didn't recognize you sooner. We were at Vigil's Keep how long together? You're not looking for me, are you? Because I like you and all, but I'm not going back."

"No, I'm not looking for you. And I would never force you to come back. I know how you feel about that."

There was a pause before he asked, "How is Ser Pounce-a-lot?"

"Depressed. I'm convinced he'll never be happy again: he misses you."

"Touching as this is," Hawke interjected, "Can someone fill me in here, please?"

"Oh, my apologies," Arais said, her amazement at stumbling across the master escape artist by complete chance nearly overwhelming her. "I am Arais, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden."

"Wait a minute," the dwarf, Varric, interjected. "_You're _the Hero of Ferelden? Somehow, I imagined you'd be taller."

"You also probably imagined her riding a griffon," Hawke teased.

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed. "Griffons have been extinct for centuries. I'm offended you'd think I'd imagine something so farfetched."

Hawke and Anders laughed, and Arais was surprised to hear the elf—who had been silent aside from his comment earlier—let out a quiet chuckle. It seemed unlike him.

After a moment of silence that followed the laughter, Arais pressed on, eager to end her search, "I'm not exactly here on an official Warden search. It's…personal."

"What do you mean personal?" Hawke asked, seeming a touch impatient.

Arais sighed. "I'm looking for one of my former companions, from during the Blight. He aided me most of the way through my journey, until..." she trailed off, finding it difficult to remember the Landsmeet without feeling that aching regret. "His name is Alistair. I received word that he was in Kirkwall, and I came hoping to find him."

"Well," Hawke began, "I think I can help you, but maybe we should go inside and talk. Those Dog Lords have been giving Kirkwall trouble for weeks now, and they seem to phase out of the walls."

Arais nodded and waited as the group turned and reentered the Hanged Man, following as soon as Hawke's silhouette was framed in the doorway. Upon crossing the threshold, she was struck with the smell of cheap whiskey and stale ale, followed by the stench of urine and vomit. Disgusting as it was, it wasn't nearly as bad as some of the taverns in Ferelden.

It didn't take long for Arais to realize Hawke's true motives for suggesting they move inside. One of the patrons by the entrance was lamenting to another about the drunkard claiming to be the Prince of Ferelden, and that he was once a famed Grey Warden. Arais laid her hand over her eyes, knowing immediately that it was Alistair.

Turning to where Hawke and the rest of her party stood, Arais said, "Thank you. I didn't quite expect this, but I'm truly grateful."

"It was nothing," Hawke stated. "Though in hindsight, I suppose I should have warned you about his current…state. He's in the corner, to the left of the stairs."

Arais only nodded her understanding to the woman and her companions before heading off in that direction. She could hardly believe it, but after all these years she was finally going to be reunited with Alistair. And she was bloody terrified.

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><p><strong>For anyone who may have read my last Dragon Age story, you may notice a similarity in theme here. I promise it'll be different, I just wanted to take another stab at the reunion between one of my Wardens and Alistair. o.O<strong>


	2. Chapter 2: Lip Reading

_I need a stiff one... and a drink. - Isabela_

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><p>Hawke watched as the Warden Commander walked away, heading slowly over to the back corner of the Hanged Man. Whether the people of Kirkwall believed him or not, Gwyneth couldn't deny the striking resemblance between the man claiming to be a prince and the late King Cailan. Her curiosity was gnawing at her, and she desperately wanted to know the story behind Arais' relationship with this Alistair.<p>

"Varric, what do you know about these two?" she asked, hopeful that the dwarf who knew something about everything knew about this.

"Believe it or not, I've never even heard of this prince. Whoever was in charge of this cover up did a damn good job of it."

Gwyneth only nodded, studying Arais with the intentness reserved for her Mabari with a running leaf. Her approach was slow and hesitant, and it almost seemed as if she was going to turn and run at any moment. _What could have possibly happened between those two that's got her panties in such a twist?_

When the Warden reached the table, it took a moment for Alistair to register that someone was there. He lifted his head from his mug of ale to stare up at Arais, and his face contorted from emotion to emotion: confusion, recognition, shock, and, ultimately, anger.

"He doesn't look very happy," Fenris pointed out, speaking for only the second time since they ran into Arais. "What do you imagine could have happened to cause such resentment?"

"According to our drunken prince," Varric began, and Hawke noticed his gaze was zeroed in on Alistair, "it has something to do with a man named Loghain." Gwyneth and the others stared at him, jaws slack. "What? Any story-teller worth his salt has to be able to read lips."

Gwyneth snorted. "Remind me to have important conversations with my back to you from now on."

"Same here," Anders agreed.

"If you ask me," Isabela interjected, approaching from her spot at the bar, "It may have something to do with their being very much…involved…during their quest to save Ferelden from the Blight."

"You know them?" Gwyneth asked, intrigued.

"I do, in fact." She grinned slyly at Hawke, and said with a wink, "Intimately."

Gwyneth could only laugh at her friend, ignoring the blighted butterflies that fluttered in her stomach when Isabela winked at her. Maker, she needed to get that under control.

"Are you alright, Hawke? You're blushing."

Smiling at the concern in Anders's query, and wondering at how he could tell she was blushing with her dark skin, she answered, "Yes, I'm fine."

Turning her focus back onto the pair in the corner, Gwyneth was surprised to find Arais sitting down across from Alistair, and she desperately wished the Warden's back wasn't turned to her so she could see her face. Alistair still looked exceedingly unhappy; though it was clear his gaze had softened significantly. It was now clear that Isabela was telling the truth about the involvement between the two of them. What was even more apparent was that Alistair's affections hadn't been altered in the slightest, despite whatever anger and resentment he felt.

"So, Varric. Have you picked up any other useful information?" Gwyneth asked teasingly, though genuinely hoping that he could answer her.

"I've gotten a little bit. Something about betrayal at a Landsmeet." He paused, then, "Maker's breath, he's the guy!"

"Guy? What guy? You know who he is, now?"

Varric nodded, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. "Right before the Hero of Ferelden put a sword through the Archdemon's skull and defeated the Blight, there was a Landsmeet to bring justice for the Grey Wardens that were massacred at Ostagar, along with King Cailan. There were reinforcements that were supposed to join the battle, but were ordered to retreat—"

"I know this part, Varric, I was there. Just skip to the Landsmeet."

"Spoil my fun, why don't you," Varric replied, some genuine hurt mixing in with his mocking tone. After a moment, he continued. "At the Landsmeet, the two remaining Wardens confronted Loghain, leader of Ferelden's army, and the one responsible for the retreat at Ostagar.

"When the Landsmeet sided with the Wardens against Loghain, everyone expected the Hero of Ferelden to have Loghain executed. An Orlesian Grey Warden that had come to Ferelden offered another option: That Loghain be put through the Joining and become a Grey Warden. The decision was made that he would become a Grey Warden, and one of the Hero's companions, the other Grey Warden, refused to fight alongside Loghain if he were to become one of them. His refusal to remain with the Warden and the rest of the party resulted in his exile, though, until now, I never understood why his exile was justified. Removing the threat of his raising a rebellion to overthrow Anora makes sense."

Gwyneth was silent for a few moments, absorbing all of the new information Varric had provided. She was beginning to understand the dynamics of the relationship between the two talking in the corner. Arais had grasped Alistair's hand, keeping him from taking another swig of his ale. She pushed it off to the side and grasped both his hands in hers, and Alistair went from doing everything in his power to avoid eye contact, to looking directly at Arais, his expression suddenly more sober than Gwyneth had ever seen it.

"It's amazing how many emotions one can go through in the span of fifteen minutes," Fenris commented, clearly amazed by the progression of the interaction between the two.

"Sound familiar?" Gwyneth teased, reminded of their recent confrontation with Hadriana, and then later at her estate. It was a mistake that she had enjoyed, but had no desire of repeating.

"Yes," he said in a clipped tone that revealed his irritation at the memory of their encounter.

"This is getting bloody ridiculous," Anders snapped, making Gwyneth suddenly conscious of his fidgeting. Just as suddenly, he pushed past her and approached Alistair and Arais, Gwyneth following close at his heels. After all, she couldn't be sure who was approaching them: Anders or Justice.

"Andraste's knickerweasels, man, quit being a fool. I spent at least six months with Arais, and only a complete imbecile would give up a woman like her."

"I second that," Isabela said, sauntering up to the table and bending over to rest her elbows on the wooden surface. "So this is what I propose: Let's head up those stairs over there to my room, and we all kiss and make up. How does that sound?"

"Isabela!" Gwyneth cried, immediately regretting it as her cheeks darkened to a deep chocolate.

"Oh, fine. Just the two of you, then." She tossed a sad pout over her shoulder at Gwyneth. "You never let me have any fun, Hawke."

"Now you know that's not true. There's plenty of fun to be had. You just need to know where to look."

"Fair point," Isabela replied, turning back to the lovebirds. "Well, the offer to use my room is still available, though, sadly, I won't be able to join you this time around. It's the last door on the left."

Straightening, she turned and walked back to the bar, and Gwyneth could hear her order a glass of whiskey. Hawke shook her head. She'd have to make that up to her, somehow.

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><p><strong>I'm bloody terrible. I always do the cliffhanger thing eventually. Sorry 'bout that. I love all my readers, and all reviews are appreciated. ^.^<strong>


	3. Chapter 3: Frustration

_You Fereldens are so finicky. How will you ever learn how to pleasure each other unless you talk about it?_

_Not listening! La lala la la!_

_-Zevran and Alistair _

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><p>As the two lovebirds disappeared up the stairs to the 'suites' of the Hanged Man, Isabela sighed dejectedly. Denied yet another good time by Hawke, she was starting to think the woman was planning to have her way with her, despite Gwyneth's tryst with Fenris. She felt violet eyes on her, and resisted the urge to meet that gaze.<p>

Thinking back to her days in Ferelden, she inevitably found herself remembering her short lived affair with the Warden Commander and her boy-toy. Isabela only wished that after his exile, Alistair had found his way to her. That would have been quite the match.

Closing her eyes and berating herself for letting her imagination get away from her, she turned to lean against the bar, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She could feel the eyes of a few of the drooling lechers that frequented the tavern focusing on some part of her body, fairly sure that it didn't include anything above her neck.

Unable to restrain herself any longer, Isabela made eye contact with Gwyneth. For a split second, she sensed that there was more to Hawke's usual stare. Normally, she'd have a look of concern for Isabela's health or well-being, but there was something else this time. It was gone before she could place it, and it only furthered her contempt for Gwyneth at that moment. She was an enigma wrapped in a mystery, then locked in a chest with a lock that's impossible to pick. Damn that woman straight to the Void.

When Hawke looked away, Isabela groaned inwardly and then pushed away from the bar, knocking back the rest of her whiskey before sauntering past her companions and out of the Hanged Man.

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><p>"So, Loghain had to have <em>sex<em> with Morrigan?" Alistair asked, and Arais only nodded in response. "I thought the best justice for the Wardens would be to kill him. But sleeping with Morrigan… I almost feel sorry for the bastard."

"I thought you'd appreciate that," Arais said, a small smile gracing her lips.

Maker, he missed that smile. The truth of the matter is that he missed everything about her every moment of his exile. He drank to avoid the memories that talk of the Hero of Ferelden stirred, to keep himself from going back. After what happened at the Landsmeet, he had convinced himself there was no longer anything between them, and therefore nothing to return to.

To see her again: to see her gray eyes glimmer beneath wispy, brown bangs. To see the hair fall past her shoulders, a silken curtain that framed her face perfectly without hiding the intricate tattoo over her right eye and cheek.

Out of a subconscious habit that Alistair had come to terms with early in his acquaintance with Arais, his gaze wandered to her mouth: a mouth that had captivated him for so long, he had every curve of her lips, every line that gave it character memorized. It was an image that haunted his every thought, every dream, since leaving Ferelden. He had long since given up trying to banish it from his memories.

"I remember that look," Arais teased lightly.

"What look? There's no look. The air in Amaranthine must be getting to your head." His mouth stumbled clumsily over 'Amaranthine', and he closed his eyes in frustration. "Maker, I wish you hadn't seen me like this, Arais."

"I'm just glad I found you, Alistair. I've spent three years wondering what became of you. I regret every day I was forced to put off my search for my duties as Warden Commander and Arlessa of Amaranthine. Maker, I'm a mage! I shouldn't be in charge of so much. Aren't people supposed to be terrified of me?"

Alistair placed a hand upon her cheek, instantly kicking himself for it. Andraste's flaming sword, it was as soft now as it had been years ago. How in the Void did she keep it so bloody soft? "I can't imagine anyone being afraid of you, love." Her eyes seemed to widen almost imperceptibly at his use of the pet name. "If anyone could convince the Templars that mages can be immune to the temptations of demons, it's you."

"Coming from a man who was nearly a Templar himself, I can almost believe it." She sighed through barely parted lips, and Alistair clenched his teeth in a desperate effort to control himself. That blighted mouth was going to be the death of him. "Are you alright?"

Maker, no, he wasn't alright. Not in the slightest. He knew any attempt to brush off her concern would be futile, and his control was rapidly degrading into nonexistence.

"Alistair?" Her voice held all the concern that it had when she offered to help him through his grief over the loss of Duncan. She had understood the man was a surrogate father to him, and that had been the first time he'd seen her genuinely good nature in full view.

"It's the ale. I'll be fine, Arais."

"If you say so," she said in that voice that told him she didn't believe a bloody word he said. "I should probably get you into bed." When his eyes widened, the color in her face drained. "That is _not_ what I meant. Maker, I'm doing that not-thinking-before-I-speak thing again."

"It's alright, Arais. It took me a moment, but I understood what you meant." When the color in her face didn't improve, he made an attempt at his most charming smile. "I mean it, your integrity is safe."

"Charmer," she muttered quietly, still quite a few shades paler than was natural. A twinge of worry pulled at Alistair's conscious, but he was still inclined to attribute the paleness to her current embarrassment.

"Well, you're probably right about getting me into bed, to sleep." She paled even further, and his assurances that it was due to her embarrassment were reaffirmed.

"Yes…uh…er…let's do that. Sleep, I mean." Arais stood up quickly as she nodded her head. "Oh, Maker," she said breathlessly, and Alistair could only watch in mortification as Arais went limp and collapsed into a seemingly lifeless heap on the floor.

"Arais!"

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><p><strong>You guys have permission to draw and quarter me for the cliffhangers, though I think it's detrimental to you if you wish to find out what happens next. Yell at me in reviews, or praise me. Either way, they're very much appreciated. Thanks =)<strong>

**Special thanks to _twixtnightandmorn_ for being the best sounding board I've had in a long time. Even though I've caused her more problems than I worth, she sticks by me to read my insanely cruel fan fiction. 3**


	4. Chapter 4: Control

_I would have preferred the direct approach. It is more righteous. - Justice_

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><p>Anders was listening to yet another of Varric's various Templar jokes when he began to sense someone's pain. <em>Something is not right.<em> The pain was coming from someone familiar, someone he was close to. He had seen Isabela leave quite a while ago, and none of his immediate companions seemed to be in distress.

As realization hit him like a stonefist to the chest, Anders practically leapt out of his seat, rushing to the stairs. He vaguely heard Hawke call after him, but he didn't take the time to respond. The urgency of finding Arais was absorbing all of his focus. _The pirate said the last door on the left,_ came Justice's voice, and Anders took the stairs two at a time, hurrying down the hall at a near sprint. He threw open the door to Isabela's room and was mortified by what he saw.

_He is harming the Warden Commander!_ Anders grabbed at his temples, feeling Justice's rage course through him. The sight of Arais laying on the floor, her robes torn: he found himself unable to regain control of Justice, because all the spirit could see was a Templar in a compromising position of power over a mage.

Anders could only watch helplessly as his skin began to crackle and glow, Justice forcing him to cross the room and lift Alistair effortlessly off the ground. "_You will not hurt her, Templar!_" Anders heard Justice roar, and then tossed the helpless man across the room into a corner.

"Anders… or Justice, whoever. Stop this, now!" Gwyneth's commanding voice shouted from the doorway, and Anders turned quickly to face her, still under the control of the spirit.

"_That Templar has attacked the Warden Commander. I will not stand by and allow it, mortal!_"

Gwyneth glared. "Are you positive that's what was happening? Or are you jumping to conclusions again?"

"_Why do you question me? I am protecting this mage from harm!_" Anders struggled valiantly against the spirit's rage, trying desperately to regain control of his body. A groan from the far corner of the room redirected Justice's attention. "_He yet lives? This will not stand!_"

"No!" Anders forced himself to his knees, eyes shut tight as he fought back the spirit. "I will not kill another, if there is a chance he is not at fault! I can't risk killing another innocent!"

As quickly as it had begun, Anders skin ceased to glow, and Justice's influence slowly dissipated into the dull throbbing that the mage had become accustomed to. He turned to assess the situation with a (somewhat) level head. When he looked closely at the tear in Arais' robes, he saw a swollen, bloody gash the length of his hand. Judging by the amount of blood soaking her robes, he was amazed she had still been on her feet when they had confronted Alistair.

"Hawke, can you check Alistair? See how much… damage I did." He flinched at his statement, particularly because he quickly determined the wound on Arais' side was at least an hour old, judging by a feeble attempt to heal itself.

He heard Gwyneth's purposeful stride cross the room, and saw her squat in front of the fallen Templar and tentatively begin to look over his battered body. Alistair muttered something in an attempt to speak, and Anders heard Hawke tell him to stay quiet and relax. When he persisted, Hawke let out a frustrated sigh.

"What's he saying?" Anders asked, not looking forward to the answer.

"He wants to know if Arais is alright. He's telling me to forget about him and help her." She turned back to the man lying on the ground. "She's in good hands, despite what you may think after that little… display. He's really not dangerous unless he's glowing."

"Experienced that… first… hand…" Alistair said through gasps for air. "What…was that?"

"It's…complicated," Hawke said, her voice unsure.

"Is he…an…abomination?"

Anders bristled at that, and quickly responded, "No. I chose this, and I am possessed by no demon. It is a spirit of Justice."

"Because that's… so much… better." Alistair coughed, groaning. "Maker… that hurts. I think… you broke… a rib or two."

"Then be quiet. You'll only make it worse by talking," Gwyneth ordered, silencing Alistair immediately. Anders knew that wasn't true, but he was grateful Hawke had said it nonetheless.

Returning his attention to Arais, he let his hands hover above the gash, the healing blue light reaching out in tendrils to close the wound. It was a fairly simple process, despite the severity of the wound. Thankfully it hadn't gone deep enough to hit an organ, and she would only be weak from the blood loss for a day or so. Standing after the wound was closed, and only a fading white scar remained, Anders bent over and lifted Arais gently, carrying her over to the bed. When he'd settled her, he made his way over to Alistair.

"Did you find anything?" he asked Hawke, who moved aside to let the healer start his work.

"Quite a few broken bones, and possibly a concussion, though it could have been the alcohol slurring his speech before."

Examining the former Templar with the gentleness expected from a healer, he determined that a good portion of the bones on the left side of his body were either broken or fractured. Anders closed his eyes to fight back a wave of guilt. Maker, have mercy. This was the last thing he had ever wanted when he merged with Justice.

"I'm not going to be able to heal him here," he said over shoulder to Hawke, then turned back to Alistair. "I'm going to take you back to my clinic. I have to reset the bones, and the healing is going to take quite a bit of time."

"What… about Arais?" he asked with more than just a hint of concern, trying to turn his gaze to the woman lying unconscious on the bed.

"I'll stay with her," Hawke said. "She'll be safe with me, you have my word."

Alistair nodded, and Anders stood, smiling at Hawke a little when he turned to her. "Do you think you could persuade Fenris to help me carry him to Darktown? I'm going to need a flat board of some kind to carry him back on, as well."

"I'm sure I can manage," Gwyneth said before leaving the room. Anders watched her leave, then placed his face in his hands, battling another wave of anxiety and guilt.

Maker, what had he done?

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><p><strong>Again, a major thanks to twixtnightandmorn, this time for helping keep me on track and keep Anders in <strong>**character. I stay on a roll because of her. ^.^**


	5. Chapter 5: Disbelief

_By the Maker... how am I going to get all this blood out? - Warden_

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><p>As unconsciousness began to give way to the waking world, Arais was aware that her brain was attempting to break out of her skull through her eyes. What in the Maker's name happened last night?<p>

Her eyes flew open as she remembered herself standing, only to fall straight to the ground, and Alistair's concerned cry before she went under completely. When she looked around, the light from the fire revealed she was still in the room provided to her and Alistair by Isabela, but he was nowhere to be found. She sat up in a hurry, placing her fingertips to her temples as a wave of dizziness nearly overwhelmed her.

"Easy, Arais. You certainly took on a lot tonight." Arais watched as Hawke stood from a chair at the table across from the bed and approached her, handing her a cup. "How are you feeling?"

She took a sip of what turned out to be water before answering. "I feel like I went through the Joining a half dozen times. What happened?"

"Well, it seems you lost consciousness when most of your blood ended up on your robes, rather than in your body where it's supposed to be."

"What in the name of Andraste's tits are you talking about? The only wound I had was a bite from that Mabari, and I healed it right away." Hawke only gestured to Arais' side, and she looked to see what was there. She gaped at the massive hole in her robes, and wondered how the Void she missed that. "Huh. That's my blood. That's… a _lot _of my blood."

"Told you so," Hawke sing-songed, and Arais simply glared in response. "Right, well, if you're wondering where lover-boy is, he's at Anders's clinic in Darktown. There was a bit of a… scuffle between the two of them. One that Alistair did not win."

"Scuffle?" Arais eyed the woman, who was now perched on the edge of the bed, suspiciously. "It sounds like you're putting it mildly. What happened?"

Gwyneth sighed, and for a moment Arais didn't think she was going to get an answer. "You knew Anders before he came to Kirkwall. Did he ever tell you about an agreement he and the spirit, Justice, made?"

"The last thing I had heard of Justice was that he left the body of the Grey Warden he had accidentally possessed in the Blackmarsh. I never found out what happened to him after that. I suspected he went back to the Fade." When she noticed Gwyneth shaking her head, Arais asked hesitantly, "That isn't what happened is it?"

"No. The spirit of Justice you knew no longer exists. He's now a spirit of vengeance," Hawke took a breath. "And he's living within Anders."

Arais stared at her companion blankly, her mind unable to process what she was just told right away. "Are you telling me that Anders is an abomination of some kind?"

"Of a sort, yes. But don't call him that to his face. Anders is a bit touchy on that subject."

"Wait… what does any of this have to do with Alistair, Hawke?" Arais asked, suddenly remembering what had gotten them onto this topic in the first place.

"It's… just don't get too upset, alright? In Anders defense, he wasn't able to control what happened." Arais nodded, gesturing impatiently for Hawke to move on. "Well, sometimes, if Anders comes across something that looks like a threat to mages or his cause to free mages in general, there's a high likelihood that he can lose control of Justice.

"When Anders sensed something was wrong, he rushed upstairs to check on you. Anders never told us what he saw, but whatever it was, Justice misconstrued it as a threat against you. Justice claimed Alistair was the one that caused the gash we found on your side, and when he took control, he… well, he attacked Alistair. Rather severely."

"How severely," asked Arais, dreading the response.

"Most of the bones on the left side of his body were broken to some degree." Arais inhaled sharply, closing her eyes against the wave of anger. She tried to understand that Anders had no control over what had happened, but it was difficult. "I wish I had gotten there sooner. I was able distract Justice long enough for Anders to regain control, but a significant amount of damage had already been done," she said with a gesture to a corner of the room.

"Maker's blood," was all Arais could manage upon seeing the large crack in the wall. The force it would have required for anyone to fling Alistair and cause that much damage was inhuman. She was forced to believe Hawke's story about Anders's deal with Justice.

"Do you think you're up for a walk? I can take you to the clinic in Darktown. I'm sure Anders would want to check on you, anyway." Arais nodded, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and standing slowly, tentatively, until she was full upright. "Alright then." She paused. "Actually, wait here for a bit."

Gwyneth hurried out of the room before Arais had time to react, and she sighed. Whatever the woman was doing, Arais could only hope she would be quick about it.

* * *

><p>Gwyneth snuck down the back alleys, in stealth as much as possible to avoid any unwanted attention. She was able to avoid another stray group of Dog Lords, though she made a mental note on their location for when she actually had her companions with her. After a few more convoluted turns and a contortionist's maneuver through a crack in the wall that didn't seem big enough for even a small child to fit through, Gwyneth found herself at the entrance to the Black Emporium.<p>

She went inside and headed directly for the chest that contained the armor and weapons for sale in the mysterious shop. She had some spare coin that she was hard-pressed to find a use for, and took decided to buy a new set of robes for the Warden Commander, who she was sure would appreciate anything that wasn't torn to bits and crusty to the point of stiffness with blood.

Ignoring the ramblings of Xenon—who still managed to give her the creeps after years of dealing with him—Gwyneth paid for her selection and hurried out of the shop, glad to be through with that place once again, and hoping she wouldn't have to come back anytime in the near future.

* * *

><p>After a half hour of waiting, Arais was beginning to think that Gwyneth wasn't coming back when the latter came back into the room, robes draped over her arm and a metal container of what must have been water in her hands.<p>

"What is all this?" Arais asked hesitantly, worried about the intentions of this near stranger.

"Well, Kirkwall isn't the most mage friendly place in Thedas. In fact, it's downright horrible. And from what I've heard of Knight-Commander Meredith, it wouldn't matter if Andraste herself was a mage, she'd still smite her." Arais simply raised an eyebrow, and Hawke continued, "Well, a torn up robe soaked in blood is bound to draw attention, and that's the last thing any of us wants. Fenris and Varric are going to join us in a moment to make sure we get to Darktown without doing more damage to you, but right now, I figured you might want to get cleaned up."

Arais looked down at her disheveled robes, and realized that they were most definitely beyond repair. She looked up at her companion sheepishly. "I will repay you for the new robes, I promise."

"You'll do nothing of the sort and like it. We're family, after all." Arais was certain her jaw had hit the floor or something, because it was the only way she could explain why Hawke was laughing. "You can't be serious! You had no idea?"

"I'm still not quite sure I heard you correctly. We're... related?"

"Indeed we are. Your mother, Revka, was my mother's cousin." Gwyneth approached Arais quickly, placing the container of what was definitely cold water on the table. "Now, I think we've twiddled our thumbs enough. Fenris and Varric will be here any moment."

Arais only nodded and stripped to her small clothes, amazed that she was suddenly reunited with family after nearly two decades without any except the other mages at the Circle, and the Grey Wardens after that. She inhaled sharply when the washcloth touched her skin, the water soaking it ice cold.

"Sorry about that. I didn't have time to heat it up."

Smiling coyly at her cousin, Arais summoned a ball of flame in the palm of her hand. "I'm a mage, Hawke. Just hold that up with my old robes, and I'll have that heated up in no time."

* * *

><p><strong>Standard thanks to twixtnightandmorn. I seem to just be hemorrhaging chapters today. I hope everyone enjoys reading them as much as I enjoy writing them. Let me know what you think, I'll give you a cyber hug!<strong>


	6. Chapter 6: Unique

_You talk about the magisters as if they are all evil._

_I have no doubt that some are good and noble men, strong enough to resist temptation. But how many temptations do you wish to offer a man before he will give in?_

_-Hawke and Fenris_

* * *

><p>Something was different about this mage, that much was clear to Fenris. From what Varric had been able to tell him, this Arais had gained the power that was coveted by mages throughout Tevinter, and not a drop of blood had been used to power the spells that got her there. It was impressive, to say the least.<p>

Just as the group was about to approach the stairs that lead out of Lowtown, they were surrounded by a pack of Mabari. Fenris let out a cry that gained the attention of a majority of the beastly hounds. When a sufficient number had surrounded him, he swung his greatsword in an arc around his waist, dispatching them swiftly.

One of the handlers disappeared from view directly in front of Fenris, reappearing only seconds later, stabbing him in the back. Fenris let out a low growl, turning on his heel and, holding his sword in a two-handed grip, thrust the blade forward, straight through the rogue's belly. He felt more than saw the warm glow surround him, and the pain in his back slowly dissipated until it was gone. He had almost forgotten that the mage accompanying them was a healer, and he was grateful.

"Fenris, get down!" Varric cried from a significant distance. Fenris bent to the ground as ordered, feeling the rush of air as an arrow passed over him. He turned his head to see two Mabari fall to the ground, dead, and a Dog Lord clutching at his chest. Before the man had a chance to take a health poultice, another well placed bolt lodged itself directly between his eyes.

When Fenris had stood upright once again, he noticed a rogue focusing his attention on Arais. She was casting a fireball at a group of enemies in the other direction, so Fenris rushed forward to protect the mage from a potential backstab. He scythed his blade through the air in a wicked swing, cleaving the man in two before he was even aware Fenris was attacking him. Backing up to within inches of Arais, a strange feeling washed over him. Unaware of what was happening to him, his markings began to glow with an intensity he'd never experienced, and a blast of energy emanated from him, knocking back the three Dog Lords attempting to surround him, launching them into the street.

He turned to look at Arais, and noticed that she was unaffected by the blast. There were a couple men sprawled on the ground some distance away, and she was facing Fenris with a dumbstruck look on her face.

"What the Void was that?" he asked.

"I have no idea." Her gaze traveled over his body, then back up to his eyes. "Do you always glow like that?"

He looked down to see what she was talking about, and was surprised to see his markings glowing a faint green, instead of the usual blue. "No, I don't."

"Arais, watch your back!" Hawke cried from a few feet away, disappearing in a fog in the middle of a crowd of Mabari. Fenris saw the threat to which Hawke had been referring, but not before he saw a dagger thrust down into Arais' shoulder, just above the collar of her robes. Fenris rushed around the mage and ran the man through, and the Dog Lord loosed his grip on the dagger and slumped over, sliding off the blade as Fenris pulled it out. As a storm of arrows began falling from the sky, taking out the remaining enemies in seconds, Fenris and Hawke rushed to Arais' side as she collapsed.

"Why are you glowing green? Don't your markings glow blue?"

"I don't know why I'm glowing green. This just started. But I think we should focus on her, for the moment." He examined the wound, wishing he knew if he should pull out the dagger or not. Hoping it was the right thing, he slid the blade out quickly, hoping she didn't feel any pain. Hawke tore a piece of fabric from her tunic and pressed it to help stop the bleeding. After a moment, Fenris pushed Hawke's hand away and held the cloth down himself, unsure why he was helping this mage.

"Andraste's blood," Hawke breathed. Fenris could only stare in shock as his hands were suddenly surrounded in a green glow, the hand against the cloth hot where he was almost positive Arais' wound was. As soon as it had begun, the glow faded and disappeared, and Arais was opening her eyes.

"What in the Maker's sweet ass just happened?" Varric whispered, approaching the elf hesitantly, as if he were a walking bomb or something.

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Fenris nearly roared. "I haven't the slightest idea what is happening to me."

"Take the cloth away," Arais whispered, fear glistening in her gray eyes. When Fenris didn't immediately do so, she practically shouted, "Do it!"

Pulling back the torn piece of tunic, a collective gasp resounded in the group: aside from some drying blood on Arais' skin, any trace of the wound having been there was gone. Not even a scar remained to show she had been injured at all.

"Well, shit," Varric said quietly. "Now the elven warrior can heal? This is unbelievable, even for me."

"What did you do to me?" Fenris asked Arais, sure his face was betraying the horror he felt, and believed he should be hiding. She shook her head, and it took all his willpower to keep from lashing out violently. Instead, he said in a near shout, "What are you?"

Arais took in a shaky breath before answering with, "I don't know."

Xxxx

Anders looked up from his desk as he sensed another mage enter the room. He turned, relieved to see Arais up and moving, though angry because he knew she was probably still weak from the blood loss. The lengths she would go to for the man asleep on one of his examination tables were astounding. He envied her freedom to love whomever she chose, a privilege he would never be granted, but was determined to give to future generations of mages.

He stood and approached his visitors. Hawke and Varric had followed Arais into the clinic, and they all looked rather disheveled. A twinge of anger poked at his conscious. "Hawke, what is she doing out of bed?"

"Well, I told her about what happened to Alistair. A foolish move, because it seemed to worry her exceedingly. I offered to bring her here, but I may or may not have forgotten about the Dog Lords roaming the streets of Lowtown the last few weeks, so we had to fight a group of those blighters, then one stabbed Arais in the neck, and Fenris started glowing green, and somehow he ended up healing Arais. All in all an eventful night, to be sure, though I never intended for her to get hurt again."

It wasn't the part about Arais getting hurt that concerned Anders, but the whole Fenris-suddenly-being-able-to-heal thing. "Wait just a bleeding minute. What do you mean Fenris _healed_ Arais?"

"Don't forget his glowing green instead of blue," Varric pointed out, earning an exasperated look from Anders. "What? We think it has something to do with the healing bit."

"Can we talk about this later?" Hawke asked impatiently. "As thought provoking and intriguing as it is, I have to go hunt down Fenris, since he disappeared shortly after his magey-moment."

Varric snorted. Anders only glared at Hawke before nodding reluctantly. "Come to the clinic tomorrow morning. We should figure this out sooner, rather than later." Hawke nodded and turned to leave, but before she could leave, Anders added, "Oh, and leave Fenris out of it for now. When we know what's going on, we'll let him now. Just… try to keep the beast from going completely mental, alright?"

With another nod of assent, Hawke exited the clinic, followed closely by Varric. Once they were gone, the awkwardness that came with the knowledge that Arais was aware of exactly what happened to Alistair finally sank in.

Anders shifted uncomfortably before asking, "So exactly how much did Hawke tell you about what happened?"

"Enough," Arais clipped. She sounded more distracted than angry. Approaching the examination table where Alistair slept—under a spell to keep him from feeling the pain when Anders set his bones properly again—she simply laid her hand atop his. Alistair's fingers seemed to twitch in response, as if he were aware she was the one holding his hand.

Rather than press the issue further, Anders turned and strode to his desk, sitting back down to the papers he had been working on. Before long, he was dwelling on what Hawke had told him about Fenris suddenly being able to heal. Anyone with half a brain knows that someone is either born a mage, or they're not. There was no evidence of a case where anyone developed magical abilities later in life.

Unable to suppress his curiosity, Anders walked over to his personal library and riffled through the books until he found the one he was looking for, sat back down at his desk, and began to read.

* * *

><p><strong>Maker have mercy, four chapters in one day is bloody impressive! And I enjoyed every minute of writing them. My brain is full of ideas just itching to come out, but I must sleep. Thanks again and again and again to twixtnightandmorn for her constant support. Enjoy everyone!<strong>


	7. Chapter 7: Impatience

_So have you changed your mind, Sten? I dream about you and I, if you must know. _

_ You would, even were I interested in a small thing like you. The Qunari act is... unpleasant. _

_Unpleasant? Unpleasant how? Now I really am interested. _

_Deadly. _

_ And what if I didn't mind? I enjoy a little... animation ._

_You'd be less animated afterward. _

_- Morrigan and Sten_

* * *

><p>Approaching the seemingly abandoned mansion, Gwyneth turned to look at Varric. "This should be interesting."<p>

"When isn't life interesting with you, Hawke?" Varric quipped, holding out a hand with a flourish to let her enter the mansion ahead of him.

"You have a point." She took a deep breath before crossing the threshold, stifling a laugh as she realized it was as if she were preparing for battle, because it was very likely she was. Magic and Fenris had never mixed in the past, and she could only imagine how actually _performing_ any form of magic could affect the broody elf.

"How do you think he's going to react to what happened?" Varric asked in a hushed voice as they entered the main hall.

"Best case scenario is he just whines a lot."

She smiled down at the dwarf, who chuckled quietly before asking, "And worst case scenario?"

Hawke frowned slightly. "I don't even want to think about it."

"I think I'll wait down here. If he tries to kill you, just shout and I'll come running."

"Coward," Gwyneth teased before heading up the stairs, not hearing the response from Varric. She would never admit it, but she was actually a little afraid to face Fenris after the debacle in Lowtown. After their very brief affair, Fenris had been colder to Hawke than he was to Anders, which was certainly saying something. Maybe she could have been a bit more understanding of his reasons for just ending it, but she had no patience for excuses. She might have actually cared for him. Now she simply tolerated his presence because he was a capable warrior, and nothing more.

She entered what was probably supposed to be the master bedroom to find Fenris pacing impatiently in front of the fireplace, the marks on his skin now back to their usual blue glow. Surprisingly, he didn't seem as angry as she had expected. He seemed to be genuinely confused and afraid of what had happened to him, and she felt a twinge of sympathy for him.

"Fenris, could you stop pacing? My neck is starting to ache from watching you."

He stopped abruptly and turned to face Gwyneth, a tortured look on his face. "I'm remembering," he blurted, immediately resuming his pacing.

"Remembering what? Fenris, you need to stop and talk to me." When he only seemed to pace more rapidly, she walked over to him purposefully and grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to stop. She may be a woman, but she had the strength one could only gain from having a brother. "For the love of Andraste, would you quit pacing and _talk to me_?"

"It's not very much, but it's more than I remembered after my night with you. And what I remember remains with me. It's… I'm not sure how to feel about this." He shrugged her hands off his shoulders, striding over to one of the benches that surrounded the fire and sitting down, placing his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.

"Whatever happened tonight in Lowtown must have something to do with this," Gwyneth pointed out, taking a seat on the bench opposite Fenris.

His head snapped up to look at her as he said, "Of course it does! First my markings glow a different color, and then somehow I end up with a temporary ability to heal that I didn't even have control over." He breathed deep. "I… apologize. This is not your fault."

"I'm glad you realize that, at least." She stood and moved over to sit next to him. "We'll figure this out, Fenris. There's a logical explanation for everything."

Gwyneth saw him shoot a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. "Why did you come here, Hawke?"

"In part, to make sure you hadn't decided to raze Hightown in a fit of broody pique," she responded, a smirk gracing her lips. "But for the most part, I just wanted to make sure you were alright. Things may be tense between us right now, but you're still my partner in crime, as it were. I look out for my own."

"I see. It's... nice to have someone to talk to about this." He turned his head to face her full on. "You've been far kinder to me than I deserve, Hawke."

Gwyneth noticed him giving her a familiar look, one that she didn't have a chance to place before he had a hand on the back of her neck, pulling her into a deep kiss. She had difficulty comprehending that this was Fenris, who not five minutes earlier she was sure hated everything about Gwyneth Hawke and the world in general.

When he pulled back, Hawke could see the same expression on his face that he had worn only two weeks earlier, impatiently approaching her, confessing that he had been able to think of little else besides her.

"I… I should go," she stammered. "Varric is waiting downstairs. I, uh… I'll come back tomorrow night."

He only nodded his assent, the look on his face now blank. "Hawke."

* * *

><p>As they approached the door to the Hawke estate, Varric turned to Gwyneth. "Are you going to tell me what happened with Fenris?"<p>

"Nothing happened," Gwyneth lied. "Are you coming to the clinic tomorrow morning?"

He eyed her suspiciously, and Hawke resisted the urge to squirm under his gaze. "What kind of question is that, Hawke? You know I wouldn't miss an opportunity for a good story."

She laughed, waiting for Varric to finally stop eyeing her and walk away before she turned and entered her estate. It was approaching dawn, and she was certain that sleep was going to be scarce. She changed into her finery behind the folding screen they had placed in the foyer, lamenting that she was too tired to wash away the grime she acquired throughout her day. As she made her way into the main room of the estate, a figure by the stairwell caught her eye. She jumped a bit in surprise, but relaxed as she recognized him.

"Fenris? How in the Maker's name did you get here before me?"

"I've mastered the back alleys of Hightown to avoid the guard, in case Aveline's patrols decide to travel outside their routes, which I've seen happen on multiple occasions."

Gwyneth shook her head in disbelief. "Why did you come? I told you I would be at your mansion tomorrow night."

"This couldn't wait," he said in a low growl, crossing the space between them swiftly and crashing his lips to hers, his hands finding her hips and pulling her flush against his body. Gwyneth slipped her arms around his neck, throwing caution to the wind for the… she'd actually lost count of how many times she had done that tonight alone.

Fenris' hands slid from her hips to her waist, around to her back and then settled below her buttocks, the armor digging into her flesh as he lifted her. Her legs instinctively wrapped themselves about his waist in a firm grip, holding her in place as he ascended the stairs. Her lips hungrily latched onto his neck, her tongue tracing the line of his markings, and she smirked at the hiss that escaped his lips at the sensation.

The door to her bedchamber slammed shut behind them. "You find that amusing, do you?" Fenris asked in a low, husky voice. Gwyneth landed roughly on the bed, and she looked up to see an ominous almost-grin playing at the corners of his mouth as he removed his gauntlets and tossed them carelessly to the side. _Oh, shit._

He climbed onto the bed, kneeling between her legs as he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. Gwyneth felt a rush of excitement, her eyes meeting his. He lowered his head as if to kiss her, but at the last second pulled back. She let out a low, frustrated moan, glaring up at him. He released her wrists, his hands traveling down her arms, just barely making contact with the fabric.

She attempted to move her hands down to take off her tunic, but Fenris immediately pinned them back above her head. "Did I give you permission to move?"

A whimper escaped her lips as his hands began their torturous descent down her arms once more, reaching her underarms and then gently grazing the sides of her breasts. His hands traveled around and between her breasts to the opening of her tunic, and rather than lifting it above her ahead, he ripped it open.

Gwyneth looked up at him, shocked at the means he had used to expose her. Before she could say anything, his mouth latched onto her right breast, lightly nipping and sucking at the tender flesh before moving on to the left.

She cried out as he bit down roughly on her nipple, moaning as he soothed it with gentle strokes of his tongue. He moved between her breasts, trailing gossamer light kisses down to where the tear ended. His hands wrapped around the edges and pulled the tattered remains of her finery roughly past her hips, removing her boots as slipped the clothing down her legs and over her ankles.

A shiver of anticipation coursed through Gwyneth as she lay there, completely exposed. Fenris' hungry stare was enough to cause her to physically shudder, and he smiled slyly as he removed his armor. Lifting one of her ankles to kiss it lightly, he left another burning trail of kisses along the inside of her leg, biting gently at the flesh of her inner thigh. She whimpered once more as she felt his warm breath against her, and she had to hold back a cry as one of his fingers began to search the very center of her.

When his tongue joined his finger in its exploration, she could no longer hold herself back. Gwyneth tangled her fingers in the messy white hair that was all she could she of Fenris, and nearly whined in protest when all of his attentions ceased completely.

"Did I not tell you that you're not allowed to move, Hawke?" In an instant, he was above her, his lips hovering just inches from hers. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "Are you that impatient? Or are you simply incapable of taking orders, and can only give them?"

She now realized that this was more than just sex. Fenris felt he was losing control, and he was using this as a way to regain it. "It seems I'm incapable of taking orders, messere," she breathed, careful to avoid calling him 'master'. She had a strong feeling that would be a very bad thing.

"A brave admission. I believe you deserve a reward for your honesty." He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers firmly, his tongue tracing her lower lip before he pulled back. "Unfortunately," he continued in a low, gravelly tone, "I'm too impatient to hold back any longer."

Before she had a chance to be confused, he plunged deep. She couldn't suppress the cries as he moved. Their movements matched with a frantic need, and Gwyneth's nails dug into his back, careful to avoid the lyrium markings that swirled in his skin. His lips met hers hungrily, and her tongue forced its way into his mouth, unable to forfeit all control, despite wanting to give it all to Fenris.

Her lower belly clenched and unclenched, the tension building to a level that had her cursing the Maker, Andraste and any other holy figure she could think of to the Void. When the tension finally broke, she sensed more than saw Fenris' markings start to glow, enveloping her in a warm, blue glow. A strangled cry escaped him, and a blast of energy emanated from him. Her back arched at the increase in intensity of her climax, and she let out a cry that was a near scream. That hadn't happened the last time they'd come together, and Gwyneth was convinced her heart was going to leap out of her chest at the rate it was beating.

After what felt like an eternity, Fenris collapsed on top of her, the glow fading back to just the markings. Their rapid heartbeats were matched, beat for beat, and Gwyneth gathered herself enough to kiss the pulse in his throat. She felt it flutter against her lips, and it would have sent a shiver through her were it not for her inability to move, or even form a full thought, at the moment.

Fenris rolled off of her, and, in an uncharacteristic move, gathered Hawke into his arms. "Did… did I hurt you?"

"I'm not sure," she replied, her answer genuine. "I don't feel any pain, but that… that was unlike anything I have ever experienced. Do you think that might have something to do with…?"

"Yes." He was silent for a moment. "I'd like to stay, if you don't mind. I want to make sure I didn't hurt you."

"I'm probably fine, Fenris." He looked down at her, unsure. "But I still want you to stay."

"As you wish, Hawke."

* * *

><p><strong>Commence the booing and flaming and angry mobs. I've strayed from cannon. But what I have planned for the future of this story gives me good reason to stray. It will make sense, I promise. Just stick with me, and you won't be disappointed.<strong>

**Again, thanks to twixtnightandmorn for reading my dreadful first drafts and helping me turn them into gold.**


	8. Chapter 8: Mensana

_Don't manhandle the Urchin. He's not for sale. Find your own! - Xenon the Antiquarian_

* * *

><p>As Arais' eyes fluttered open, she had to think a moment to remember where she was. She sat up on the examination table she had slept on, which was decidedly more comfortable than the bedrolls she had slept on during the Blight. Taking in her surroundings, her attention was immediately focused on Anders, face down on his desk, his hands on either side of a book.<p>

She smiled to herself, the little sleep she had gotten enough to relieve her of her anger. It was doubtful that Anders would have acted so impulsively, and having known Justice for months, certainly expected such rash behavior more so from him than the mage he now possessed.

Swinging her feet to the floor, Arais stood slowly to avoid the dizziness she was sure to experience from her massive blood loss. She walked over to Anders and gave his shoulder a little shake, and he started awake, his hands glowing with blue cracks for a split second before he turned and recognized the Warden.

"I still can't believe that you and Justice did something so foolish," she said, keeping her hand on his shoulder. "What in the name of Andraste made you think allowing a spirit—even a benevolent one—to possess you was a good idea?"

"Arais, don't do this. There's nothing you can say to me that I haven't said to myself a thousand times before. Justice couldn't stand the suffering of mages any more than I could, and we had hoped our merging would help further the cause." He sighed, looking her in the eyes. "If I could take it back, I would. But there's no way to reverse it. It is done."

"The Justice I remember wasn't a bloody thirsty monster. Maker, he nearly killed Alistair." She took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice beneath the shout that it was threatening to become. "I'm sorry, but you're an idiot, Anders. There's no possible way to rationalize what you've done." Their attention was drawn to the clinic's entrance, where Hawke and Varric were slowly entering.

"Are we interrupting something?" Varric asked.

"No, not at all," Arais said quickly, wanting to move on. When Gwyneth started walking toward the two mages, Arais could sense pain in each step the rogue took. "Are you alright, Hawke?"

Hawke looked down at the floor, her skin darkening. "No sense lying to two healers, I suppose. I had a rough night, and it feels like I got tossed about by an ogre."

"Rough night, indeed," Varric teased. "I have a feeling I know what happened between you and brood master when we saw him at his mansion."

"That's not what happened!" Hawke cried, startling Arais with her conviction.

A groan sounded from the examination tables, and everyone turned to where it was coming from. "It's impossible for a man to get any sleep in this clinic once the sun comes up, it seems," came Alistair's voice, thick with sleep. His eyes focused on the group gathered around Anders's desk. "Ah, looks like a party! Why does Ser Blue-and-glowy look like he's seen an ogre naked?"

"Now that's an image I didn't need this early in the morning. I'm stone cold sober." Varric put his hand up to his eyes. "Arais, do you know any memory wiping spells?" When she shook her head, he sighed. "Guess I'm stuck with the image of naked ogres indefinitely."

"Sorry about that, friend," Alistair said, genuinely repentant. He turned his attention to Arais. "So what are we talking about?"

"Well, I was just about to have Hawke lay down so I can do a proper examination, since she came in her walking like she had boards attached to her limbs," Anders said, fixing a commanding stare on Gwyneth. "Now, Hawke."

"Fine. But this is totally unnecessary. I'll probably be fine in a few hours."

Arais followed Anders and Gwyneth over to the unoccupied examination table, where Hawke was ordered to lay flat. As Anders began to let his hands hover over the rogue's body, a confused expression pulled at his features.

"What is it?" Arais asked, her eyes still focused on the healer's face.

"Well, I can feel her pain, but it's odd. I think I sense lyrium in her muscle tissue." He stepped aside. "See for yourself."

Arais gave him an are-you-mad-she's-not-even-a-mage look before taking his place beside Gwyneth. Letting her hands travel over the length of the woman, she was surprised to find that she, too, was sensing lyrium in the rogue's muscles.

Suddenly, Hawke's back arched, and she began breathing heavily. Her body went stiff enough to give petrified wood a run for its sovereigns before a layer of shimmering blue light rose from her skin, and seemed to absorb into Arais' hands. Warmth that the healer had only ever felt when she drank a lyrium potion during battle rushed through her, and she stared wide-eyed as Gwyneth's body relaxed and settled back on the table.

Gwyneth seemed drained of all energy, but still had enough to utter, "Shit, Arais. What did you just do to me?"

"I haven't the slightest idea." Arais let her hands roam the length of Hawke's body once more, this time not sensing even the slightest trace of lyrium. "Oh… it seems I just drained the lyrium from your muscle tissue. Can you move?"

"I think so," Hawke said, lifting an arm before tentatively sitting up. "Well, good news: I'm not hurting anymore. Bad news: We still have not a bleeding clue what Arais is." She turned her attention back to the healer in question. "You're no ordinary mage; that much is clear."Arais looked around the clinic, noticing that every eye was on her. She locked gazes with Alistair, whose astonishment rivaled the others tenfold.

"Didn't we all come here to try to figure out exactly that, after what happened with Fenris?" Anders asked, breaking the ever growing silence. "Because I think I found something last night, after everyone left."

"And what was that? You know, aside from a new place to sleep?" Arais asked, kicking herself for her lack of tact.

"Well, the tome I fell asleep reading is a Tevinter text on different types of rare magic. I happened across it in a shop that… recently opened in Kirkwall, and decided it might be useful after we helped that dreamer, Feynriel. I knew very little of _Somniari_, due to the highly censored state of the library at the Circle."

"This is all very fascinating," Gwyneth said impatiently, "but can we get to what you learned that actually concerns Arais, please?"

Anders gave Hawke an exasperated look before continuing. "I came across two possibilities. There are _Lamentari_, who can, for lack of a better word, _hear_ strong emotions and physical feelings. They also have the ability to manipulate the emotions of others."

"Sounds like blood magic," Alistair said, his tone dubious.

"Not entirely," Anders replied. "Most _Lamentari_ aren't even aware of the manipulation. In essence, it's a natural defense against high stress situations, a way to diffuse them and make them easier for the _Lamentari _to handle."

"That doesn't sound like what I did last night, though. It was as if I transferred some of my power over to Fenris, making it possible for him to perform an act of healing," Arais explained.

"And it also doesn't explain how spending the night with Fenris ended with me having lyrium-infused muscle tissue," Hawke said quietly, her cheeks darkening again.

"What happened, exactly?" Arais asked, backtracking when she saw the look of disbelief on Gwyneth's face. "I mean, not specifics. Just… did anything out of the ordinary happen?"

"Well, when we were… you know—"

"Oh, Maker have mercy, do we have to talk about this? I really don't want to hear about Hawke's late night rendezvous with Fenris," Anders practically whined.

"I second that," Alistair piped up from his seat on the other examination table.

"Yes, you two, we do need to talk about this. I want to know what's going on with my magic, and if this is what it takes, you just have to suck it up." Anders and Alistair groaned in unison, their faces turning similar shades of pink. "You were saying, Hawke?"

Gwyneth grew darker by the second as she explained what happened, and Arais listened in amazement. The fact that she had more than likely helped this elf remember parts of his past he thought lost forever, and then caused the interesting… bedroom moments, was nearly unbelievable. When Hawke had finished her recounting of the previous night's events, Arais turned to Anders. His face was crimson, and it seemed more likely that anger, rather than embarrassment, was causing it.

As Anders seemed to recollect his thoughts and focus on what was at hand, he said, "The other possibility I came across was _Mensana_. It's about as rare as _Somniari_, if not rarer. A _Mensana_ is born with many talents, all very difficult to master and control. The most important talent I came across was the ability to heal damage to the brain cause by lyrium. I think what we just witnessed with Hawke is evidence of how exactly that's done."

"What else can they do?" Varric asked, his face alight with fascination.

"They're capable transferring their powers to another person, mage or not. They can cast spells through a vessel, and sometimes the ability to cast those spells remains with that vessel for a short time. An untrained _Mensana_ may accidentally imbue another, friend or foe, with the power to cast a spell, simply by casting it on that person. It's amazing, really."

"Well, shit," Gwyneth muttered. "How exactly do you train a _Mensana_? I imagine it's detrimental to one's efforts if you give your enemy the ability to blow you or your allies up with a fireball."

"It's not easy. It takes quite a bit of time, patience, and willpower. The extra concentration a _Mensana _would have to put into a spell would drain them significantly faster than any normal mage. The advantage of being a _Mensana_, however, is that they're practically invisible to demons."

"How is that possible?" Alistair asked.

"The ability they have to accidentally transfer their power makes the vessel more visible to demons. If not a mage, the vessel is still can't be possessed, but their temporary presence in the Fade confuses the demons, and they'll likely lose track of the _Mensana_, and move on to another target."

"Well that's… something," Varric said.

Arais felt everyone's eyes on her, and she was finding it difficult to absorb all the information that Anders was spouting off at a rapid pace, but in too much shock to ask him to slow down.

"Now that we have settled, there's just one more problem," Gwyneth said. "Who's going to tell Fenris?" When no one responded, opting to look everywhere but at Hawke instead, she sighed. "Fine, I'll do it. But you all owe me one."

* * *

><p><strong>Yes, another long chapter. Hopefully this explained everything. I hope all of you enjoy what I'm coming up with, because at this point the characters have taken over and I have no control over what happens anymore.<strong>

**Thanks to twixtnightandmorn for letting me borrow _Lamentari_. So very grateful to her for that.**


	9. Chapter 9: Comfort

_I sometimes wonder if the Chantry's many laws regarding magic are even necessary. Darkspawn are a greater threat than blood mages, even abominations. It takes decades for the world to recover from a Blight. - Duncan_

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><p>Fenris started pacing in front of the fireplace in the Hawke estate's library, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor. Hawke had insisted that she was perfectly fine, but she seemed to have forgotten that he wasn't blind. He saw the stiffness of her stride, and he worried that he'd seriously hurt her. It was the last thing he ever wanted to do.<p>

"De vacuo ea!" he spat, looking up at the statue above the fireplace. He told Hawke time and again that he hated that statue, and yet she insisted on keeping it. He couldn't imagine why, when she had no recollection of when or where she acquired it.

"Say that again? Only try the common tongue this time, I don't speak Arcanum." He turned to see Hawke in the doorway, still in her armor. She had yet to replace her ruined finery, and he forced himself to suppress the memory of exactly what had happened to it. "I have something to tell you, and I'd rather you be sitting down before I do."

He eyed Hawke warily before sitting in a chair that was turned away from the statue, his gaze never leaving her face. Her normal self-confidence was being overshadowed by an insecurity he would never have expected to see from her. She became restless and began pacing, something she constantly berated him for. Rather than point that out, he simply waited as patiently as he possibly could.

"This is definitely as difficult as I thought it would be, so I'll just come right out with it," she started, the speed of her words resembling Merrill's, and he suppressed the instinctive bristling at the thought of the blood mage. "We figured out what happened with Arais, and what happened to you. She's something called _Mensana_…" Fenris listened as Hawke explained exactly what a _Mensana_ was, practically drilling the fact that it was not blood magic into his head with every other sentence.

"From what I was able to gather when Anders was explaining it all, the healing incident was just residual energy from when she had healed you in battle. As for what happened with _us_, the only viable explanation we could come up with was that when you... climaxed… the burst of energy was lyrium leaving your body and transferring into mine. They found lyrium in my muscles, but Arais was able to remove it, albeit unintentionally. Afterwards, any pain I had been feeling was gone."

"And what of my memories returning?" he asked, his voice betraying only a small amount of the significant anticipation he was feeling.

"When you told me about how you received those markings, you said that the pain of the lyrium being burned into your skin was severe enough to wipe your memory clean. I think it was the lyrium—not the pain—that actually affected your memory. The only way to explain how your memories returned is brief exposure to Arais' unique ability to heal lyrium-induced brain damage."

He stood from his chair and—suddenly animated and feeling the need to move—began pacing. "Did I tell you that my markings hurt less? The pain was the same when I came here last night, but as I left this morning, I noticed that the pain wasn't as severe. The lyrium that transferred from my body to yours… it must have been connected to my markings."

"If that's true, Fenris," she began, approaching him and laying a hand on his upper arm to still him, "do you think she might be able to heal the markings? Would you want her to?"

"I don't know," he replied, too caught up in his own thoughts to be upset that she was pointing out the obvious again. "If it is true, I don't know what I would do. Without these markings, Danarius would no longer have reason to hunt me down. But life with these markings is all I've ever known. I can't imagine what it would be like without them." Fenris watched as a flurry of emotions clouded the violet eyes that refused to meet his, clearly desperate to console him in some way.

He put his hands on her shoulders, shaking her a bit so she would meet his gaze. "Hawke, just because you've set out on an impossible quest to save all of Kirkwall from running itself into the ground does not mean you have to save me, is that clear?" She nodded, doubt still glimmering in her eyes. "I can take care of myself."

"That doesn't mean I don't want to be there, Fenris," she persisted. "I care about you, maybe a little too much. I'd do anything to protect you. I have to make up for…" she trailed off, a lone tear trailing down her cheek.

"You still blame yourself for what happened to Bethany in the Deep Roads," he stated more than asked. He had been there to see the corruption consume Hawke's younger sister, had heard the last words exchanged between sisters before Bethany took her last breaths. Hawke had held herself together well on their journey back to the surface, but for the most part refused to talk about it to anyone but Varric.

"If I had only listened to my mother; if I hadn't been such a blighted fool, she'd still be alive."

"I cannot imagine what it must be like to lose your family. Anything I could say would be insufficient." He lifted his hand to wipe the stray tear from where it had paused on her chin. She turned her head to lean into his palm, sighing as another tear streaked down the other cheek. "I'm sorry."

"Let's go upstairs," she whispered, grasping the hand on her cheek in hers, lowering their joined hands before leading him out of the library and up the stairs. When the door to her bedchamber was closed, she kissed him gently, and his heart ached for her as he felt one of her tears touch his lip.

Maker, he wished he could take away her pain.

* * *

><p>"You think you'll be able to make it?"<p>

Alistair smiled at Arais, who stood less than a foot away from him as he got up from the examination table. "I'm a bit sore, but I'll manage. I can't stay still any longer."

"You never were the patient type," she pointed out, smirking at him. "The number of times you had to come to me to heal a wound you had reopened because Wynne refused to do it again was astounding. Not that I minded. I enjoyed teasing you."

"Don't tell Wynne, but," Alistair leaned in close, almost conspiratorially, "You were always a better healer than she was."

"And yet you still managed to reopen the wounds after _I_ healed them."

He glared at her. "They itched horribly! I can't stand itchiness."

"Oh, hush. You sound like a child," she teased, taking his arm as he began to take tentative steps forward.

"Ow. My pride." He turned his attention to Anders, who was sitting silently at his desk, his attention focused solely on the Tevinter tome he had used to identify Arais' ability. Alistair was tempted to thank him, but feared any attempt to speak to the healer would go unheard. He turned back to Arais. "Back to the Hanged Man, then?"

"Yes," she replied.

She said a quick farewell to Anders, who, as Alistair suspected, didn't seem to register the words in the slightest. Arais rolled her eyes almost imperceptibly before leading Alistair out of the clinic.

* * *

><p><strong>This story has officially taken on a mind of its own. I'm about to jump into my own imagination and kick every character's ass. Except I have no battle training and they're all at least Level 12 in their respective classes so I'll probably get destroyed and then I won't be able to finish my story because I'll be in some kind of vegetative coma or something...sorry, done rambling. If you hadn't noticed, I'm pretty much the real-life equivalent of Merrill, sans pointy ears.<strong>

**Thanks again to twixtnightandmorn. She knows what she did. :-)**


	10. Chapter 10: Experiment

_I know the Chantry says you dream about your babies and the good Fade spirits take them out of the Fade and leave them in your arms... but that's not true. Actually what happens is that when a girl and a boy really love each other-_

_Andraste's flaming sword! I know where babies come from!_

_- Wynne and Alistair_

* * *

><p>His eyes were beginning to burn, and Anders was vaguely aware that he may be forgetting to blink. He looked up from the text as he finished the passages on <em>Mensana<em>, and his understanding hadn't increased in the slightest. He had been hoping there was something that could help him find an effective way to train Arais in her abilities, but there had never been a successful attempt to train someone of her power. Though that discouraged him significantly, Justice kept whispering that Arais was different from the others. She was a Grey Warden, which could make all the difference, though exactly how not even Justice could peg for certain.

_Perhaps the Warden Commander knows of someone who can help?_ Anders had to admit that Justice had a good point. Shaking his head at how insane that sounded, he sat back in his chair, looking around the now empty clinic. He was surprised he hadn't heard Arais leave with Alistair, but more so that the former Grey Warden had been capable of walking on his own already. _It seems he is stronger than we thought_.

Nodding, Anders stood and began picking up his clinic, getting it as clean as he possibly could. Once he was done with that, he'd head out in search of Arais. He needed to speak with her as soon as possible about finding someone who could help them learn more of her abilities.

* * *

><p>"Where have you two been?" Isabela asked as Arais and Alistair entered the Hanged Man, the slight mage supporting the significantly larger warrior as they moved to a table nearby.<p>

"Anders' clinic," Arais answered, helping her companion into a seat. "Alistair met Justice up close and personal last night, and it required quite a bit of healing to undo the damage."

Isabela chuckled despite herself, her experiences with Anders' better half causing her imagination to run wild. "Did Justice throw another temper tantrum?"

"To say the least," Alistair said, wincing as he shifted in his seat. "He broke nearly every bone in my left side throwing me against a wall. Not the most pleasant experience I've had, though I suppose it's no worse than becoming an ogre's ragdoll. That's one of the things I was glad to get away from when I left the Wardens."

Eyes wide, Isabela was only able to manage a quiet, "Shit." She knew Justice could be a son of a bitch, but this was a level even she hadn't witnessed. She almost wished she had though. Maker, she had a twisted mind.

"So who do I talk to for a room?" Arais asked, smiling. "Sleeping on one of that clinic's examination tables doesn't make for a good night's rest."

"Agreed." Alistair shifted uncomfortably. "I think these aches are due more to that than being thrown by a possessed mage."

"I can think of another cause for your… aches, Alistair," Isabela said slyly.

His face turned a faded shade of red at the innuendo. "Maker, Isabela, you haven't changed a bit, have you?"

"Not at all," she replied with a wink. "For a room, you'll want to speak to Norah. She's the pretty little brunette that's slapping the drunk over there upside the head." She pointed to the corner by the fireplace, snickering at the surprised look on the man's face, and heard a similar sound from Arais. "Men here never learn that Norah is off limits, and will remind you with force."

With that, Isabela sauntered back to the bar, ordering a cup of the rat-piss they called whiskey, for once allowing her mind to wander to wherever it wished, missing the freedom of the open see more than ever.

* * *

><p>"How severe is the pain?" Arais asked an hour later in their room, sitting on the edge of the bed.<p>

He rolled his shoulder, wincing conspicuously. "Remember the time in the Deep Roads, when one of the Broodmother's tentacles grabbed Zevran and beat him against the ground a few times, before tossing him across the cave for good measure?" She nodded, resisting the urge to laugh at the memory of Zevran whining the rest of the way to the Anvil of the Void. "That's pretty much how I feel right now." She frowned, taking a moment to think before ordering him to lie down. "What? Why?"

"I want to try something," she replied, waiting as he slowly moved to lie on the bed. "Just hold still. I'm not sure exactly what I'm going to try."

"That's not ominous in the slightest."

She gestured for him to be quiet, then moved her hands over his body. She could sense the dull throb of magic from the intense healing he received, a completely normal side effect, and she also felt the pain in his muscles burning at her palms. Completing her once over, she held her hands in the same position she had with Gwyneth above Alistair. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the pain as she took deep, even breaths.

Alistair grunted. She felt the fabric of his tunic against her palms as his body arched upwards, so she opened her eyes and lifted her hands so they were hovering barely an inch above him. The first thing she noticed was that rather than the blue glow of lyrium, a red cloud was surrounding her hands, and for a moment she was worried that she was unintentionally performing blood magic. The fog of red traveled up her arms and began to surround her entire body, and suddenly her muscles were aching. This wasn't blood magic, it was something entirely different. It was as if she was transferring his pain to herself, and she had to force herself to concentrate despite the pain.

As Alistair's body relaxed, Arais doubled over, letting out a strangled cry as her muscles clenched and twisted, pain causing her vision to blur. She tried to focus on the red glow surrounding her, and noticed the color begin to lighten, gradually fading to a glistening white sheen. The pain subsided, replaced by warmth that turned her muscles to jelly, and she slumped forward, resting her head on Alistair's stomach, facing him. She was on the verge of tears from the intense pain she had just experienced, knowing full well that was exponentially more pain than Alistair had been feeling.

"That was... something, I'll give you that," Alistair said. He brushed the hair from her face, placing his hand on her cheek. "Arais, your skin is practically on fire. Are you alright?"

"I think so. That just took a lot of energy."

"I'll say. Though whatever just happened, my pain is completely gone."

Arais sat up, and she felt Alistair staring at her. She looked over at him to meet his gaze. Propping himself up on one elbow, he patted the spot next to him. She gave him a small smile and climbed into the bed, sighing contentedly as he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

As her eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion flooding her every limb, she felt Alistair press his lips behind her ear, and then drifted into a deep, restful sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Standard thanks to twixtnightandmorn for being awesome. Not much else to say. Hope you enjoyed!<strong>


	11. Chapter 11: Surprise

_Anders... there's no such thing as a good spirit. There never was. All spirits are dangerous. I understood that. I'm sorry that you didn't. - Merrill_

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><p>When his eyes opened after what felt like eons, Alistair's first realization was that Arais was no longer with him. He sat up quickly, still amazed that not a trace of the pain he had been feeling earlier remained. Looking around the room, he found that Arais wasn't in the room. He stood and crossed to the table, relieved to find a note written in Arais' hand.<p>

_Anders stopped by looking to speak in private. We went to his clinic in Darktown. There's a surprise for you from Gwyneth and me by the door. When you're ready, meet Anders and me here. Isabela and a mage, Merrill, will accompany you.  
><em>_Arais_

Alistair cocked an eyebrow when he read the part about a surprise from Hawke. His place the scrap of paper Arais had scribbled her message on back on the table, turning his gaze on the place by the door. His eyes widened at what he saw: though the golden tint that had been added to the silverite had long since faded, and minor alterations had been made due to repairs after heavy battle, there was no question in Alistair's mind that it was Cailan's armor. The last he had seen of it was when he left it with Bodahn before he left Ferelden.

To see it again, the memories came flooding back, and he wondered if Gwyneth had known whose armor this was. She was Fereldan, so it was probable that she might have been at Ostagar, fighting alongside the king when the flanking charge never came. Even though it went against the grain to imagine anyone surviving that terrible battle, Gwyneth seemed to have the fighting spirit that he saw in Arais, and in his mind, that was reasonable enough to make her survival likely.

After he worked his way into the greaves, he pulled the breastplate on and adjusted it to a proper fit. Before he pulled on the gauntlets, his gaze fell on the bench where a longsword and a shield rested, and Alistair fell to his knees. His fingers traced along the Griffon emblazoned on the silverite shield, absorbing the feel of cool metal against his fingertips. A tear slipped down his cheek, and he batted it away.

Being four years since he'd said anything, he was amazed Arais had remembered his longing to have something to remember Duncan by. The sword they had acquired during their salvage mission to Ostagar, off the corpse of the ogre they could only suspect was responsible for Duncan's death. But the shield… he couldn't imagine where she could have found it. After he pulled on his gauntlets and sheathed the sword, Alistair lifted Duncan's shield, testing its weight in his hand. It felt right, like an extension of his arm.

Placing the shield on his back, Alistair made a few final adjustments to the armor before heading downstairs.

* * *

><p>"Now <em>that's<em> the Alistair I remember," Isabela muttered as she saw the man descend the stairs, fully armored and looking ready for battle. He looked around the crowded tavern until he seemed to spot Isabela, then began making his over to them.

"Oh, is that him?" Merrill asked, pointing in Alistair's direction. "Oh, wait. I'm not supposed to point, am I? Elgar'nan, I've been among humans for three years and I still can't learn proper etiquette."

Isabela turned her gaze on the nervous elf. "Easy, Kitten. You're in a tavern, filled with drunken fools playing grabass with anyone that has breasts. I think your pointing is the least of anybody's worries." Merrill giggled, the sound childlike in its innocence. The pirate still had a hard time accepting that this innocent girl was a blood mage. "But yes, Merrill. That's Alistair."

"He's very handsome. More so than most of the humans in Kirkwall." Isabela saw the elf's features become more studious, her gaze fixated on Alistair's face. "There's something about this man. I don't believe he's entirely human."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I can't be sure. It's only a feeling, at the moment. Maybe I'll get a more definite answer by spending time with him." Merrill blushed, finding a spot on the floor suddenly very interesting. "By spending time with him, I don't mean… you know… _alone_. Just around him, with other people."

Isabela chuckled. "No worries, Kitten. I knew what you meant."

The elf looked up at her friend, smiling. "You're always so nice to me, Isabela."

"Isabela," came Alistair's voice, and she could just hear the smile before she even turned to look. "Always a pleasure." He turned to the elf. "And you must be Merrill. It's nice to meet you."

Merrill bowed her head in greeting. "Nice to meet you, messere."

"Ugh, don't call me that, it reminds me of my unwanted noble blood. Alistair is fine." Isabela watched Merrill nod awkwardly, her cheeks coloring almost imperceptibly; to anyone other than Isabela, anyway. "Shall we get a move on, then? I'd like to find out why Anders needed to speak privately with my l—Arais."

"Of course. Am I to lead us?" Isabela asked.

"You're the captain," Alistair said with a grin.

The pirate sighed longingly. "Sadly, that title rings a bit hollow when without a ship to be captain of."

* * *

><p>Studying the back of Alistair's head was starting to make Merrill's neck ache. By the Dread Wolf, how could humans stand to be so tall? It was a wonder they didn't hit their heads more often. As they descended the stairwell that led to Darktown, Merrill tripped on the last step, having been distracted with her examination of the newcomer. She reached out her hands to catch herself, grasping wildly until her hand gripped metal and she was able to break her fall.<p>

"Elgar'nan, I'm so clumsy. I apologize," she said quickly, looking up to see Alistair looking at her with wide-eyed concern. He truly seemed worried for her well-being. Generally, her experience with humans in Kirkwall had been negative, aside from Hawke and Isabela. It was clear Anders disliked her very much, and it vexed her that she could not convince him of the control she had when dealing with the spirits. Bethany had been kind, and had seemed almost protective of Merrill before the Blight had taken her.

"No worries. I've tripped over my fair share of invisible obstacles to lose my right to judge," Alistair said with a charming smile, eliciting a giggle from Merrill. She got the feeling that there was something more to this man than met the eye, and it was on the very edge of her conscious when a bolt of spirit energy struck Merrill square in the chest.

She gasped, immediately sending out wisps of poison that took on the appearance of tentacles as they whipped and swirled about her. Mercenaries swarmed around her, and with a burst of will, the tendrils lashed out and wrapped around the enemies, tearing their flesh like small splinters of glass, their blood traveling through the wisps and rejuvenating Merrill.

With the men still writhing in pain, she shot a bolt of lightning from her palm at the mercenary in the middle of the group before launching a stonefist at an assassin targeting Isabela. She watched as Alistair quickly made the same assassin the target of a sideways slice that relieved the man's shoulders of the burden that was his head.

When Isabela dispatched the last of the mercenaries with a backwards thrust of her daggers, Merrill reined in the poison wisps, her body still humming with the thrill of battle. She enjoyed every moment, even if she did feel guilty of the countless murders she was committing.

Moving on, Merrill followed absentmindedly along the familiar path to Anders' clinic. She tried to avoid going there, out of fear that she'd wind up in yet another argument with the healer about blood magic. She found it difficult to differentiate the demons he worried would possess her and the altered benevolent spirit that already possessed him. May the Dread Wolf take the man, because she was growing weary of his hypocrisy. As they approached the clinic, Alistair and Isabela turned to face Merrill, and they all took turns look at each other.

Isabela's gaze seemed to linger on Merrill before she said, "Well, my dear Alistair, this is where Merrill and I will take our leave."

"We're not staying?" Merrill asked, having been convinced that she would be forced to deal with Anders again.

"No, Kitten. We'll go back to the Hanged Man, and I'll teach you a few tricks in Wicked Grace so you can play with Varric, Fenris and me tomorrow night."

"Oh, that sounds like fun," she said cheerily, turning to Alistair. "It was truly a pleasure, mes—Alistair."

"Likewise," he replied, a smile lighting his face.

For a moment, Merrill's gaze locked with his, and in that split second she realized what had been nagging at her since she had met him in the Hanged Man. He certainly wasn't entirely human, and only one with the training a First received would be able to figure out what she had. She turned quickly and hurried away, hearing Isabela's hurried farewell to Alistair as she rushed to catch up with the elf.

"Why are you in such a hurry to escape, Kitten?" Merrill continued to walk, moving rapidly towards the exit that would lead them to Lowtown. Isabela grabbed her shoulders, stopping her in her tracks. "Merrill, talk to me. What's the matter?"

"Do you remember how I said that I sensed something… different… about Alistair? That it felt like he wasn't entirely human?" When Isabela nodded, Merrill took a deep breath. "Well, I think I just found out why. I believe he's like that boy we helped, Feynriel" Isabela quirked an eyebrow, still not comprehending. "I believe he's half elf, Isabela."

* * *

><p><strong>Just so everyone knows, that little development at the end is actually cannon. Read the books if you don't believe me.<strong>

**Thanks to twixtnightandmorn for turning me on to that little tidbit from the books. Now I'm gonna have to read them out of my insatiable curiosity about Dragon Age.**


	12. Chapter 12: Tension

_Women are drawn to you when you play with that cat. _

_ Like moths to a flame. Women like it when men show affection for small, fuzzy, defenseless beings. Like you. _

_Stupid... mage. Every time I pull something out of my robes, the women just flee. _

_- Oghren and Anders_

* * *

><p>"Avernus?" Alistair asked, and he seemed genuinely confused. "As in the crazy Warden mage from Soldier's Peak who tore the Veil summoning demons and doing his blood magic experiments? You want to ask <em>him <em>for help?"

"He's our only option, Alistair. All his years holed up in that keep; it's entirely possible he learned something about _Mensana_ that could help me control it." Arais crossed the few feet that separated her from Alistair, placing her hand on the armor Gwyneth had given him. Countless times she had asked Hawke where she had found it, knowing full well it was Cailan's armor and had been lost after Alistair's exile. Every attempt to extract the information, however, was met with clever and evasive conversation tactics, and ended with Arais confused and frustrated.

Maker, she hated rogues.

As Alistair went to reply, the door to the clinic flew open, and a man with long, scuzzy blond hair stumbled over the threshold. "My wife," he choked out, gasping for air. "She's in labor."

"Where?" Arais watched as Anders started moving around the clinic, collecting various herbs and other materials: what she identified as the standard fare for child births.

"On the other side of Darktown. Please, hurry. My son is watching her, but he's only six."

"Bring me to her," Anders ordered, placing all the items he'd gathered into a rucksack. The man nodded and ran out of the clinic, Anders close at his heels.

When the door closed behind them, Arais returned her gaze to Alistair, their eyes locking. "Well, that was unexpected."

"That it was," he agreed, a worried frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Are you certain Avernus is the _only_ option?"

"Aside from dealing with a demon," Arais stated, chuckling at her companion's wide-eyed stare. "It was a joke. You know I wouldn't consider something so foolish." He only nodded in response, crossing his arms over his chest. The clink of his armor seemed to trigger something within Alistair, because his expression changed to one of remembrance, with a touch of old pain. "Are you alright, Alistair?"

"Y-Yes, I just… I can't believe it's been four years. Some days, it feels like just yesterday we left the Wilds on a seemingly impossible quest to save Ferelden from the Blight. So much had been laid before us, and you still took the time to talk to me about Duncan: to make sure I was alright." Topaz eyes met her gray ones. "Where did you find the shield?"

Arais stepped forward, itching to be closer to him. "The Warden from Orlais—the one we found in Howe's estate—told me where to find the Grey Warden vault in Denerim. It was there, in a chest. I was going to give it to you after the Landsmeet, but…" she trailed off, turning her head to look away.

A gauntleted hand cupped her cheek, turning her head until she was forced to look into his eyes once more. "Arais… it is impossible to be angry with someone who, after four years, remembered something so important: especially when you spent those four years with a reminder of just how important memories are to that person." Slipping off one of his gauntlets, Alistair reached beneath his armor and lifted an amulet over his head. It took Arais a moment to recognize it as his mother's, and she looked back at him in amazement. "In a way, I've always kept you close to my heart." She didn't know what to say as he slipped it over her head, allowing his bare hand to linger against the sensitive skin of her neck momentarily before moving to replace the piece of armor. Arais reached out her hand to stop his, and their gazes locked once more.

The sound of metal hitting dirt reverberated in the clinic as Alistair dropped the gauntlet, taking the single stride to close the gap between them before lowering his lips to hers. His other gauntlet crashed to the ground, and her hands rested on his waist as his found her back. She'd almost forgotten the feel of his lips: the dry, cracked skin brushing teasingly against her soft, tender lips. Each rough caress was sending a wave of sensation throughout her entire being, and as his attention moved along her jaw to rest just below her ear, Arais sighed wistfully.

She moved her hands up to rest on the breastplate, pushing at it gently. Her eyes widened in surprise when Alistair stepped back and swiftly removed it and his greaves, impatiently tossing all of it to the side. She didn't even have a chance to react before his lips had found hers again, more hungrily than before. Arais felt her need growing, and her hands found their way back to his chest—now unarmored—and she dug her fingernails into the fabric of his tunic.

Alistair groaned into her lips, his hands finding the fastening of her robes and undoing them quickly, and in moments the fabric was pooled at her feet, leaving Arais in only her small clothes. He pulled her against him, and she let her body melt into his as the kisses deepened. They began to move backward until she was pinned against the wall, and her fingers trailed delicately down to the hem of his tunic, tugging the fabric up until they were forced to separate to lift it over his head.

The moment their skin touched, Arais became lost entirely to sensation: his rough lips moving along her neck and shoulders, the roughness of his hands traveling up her back and tearing the flimsy bit of cloth covering her breasts. The coarseness of his chest hair against her bare breasts sent a shiver through her that caused her back to arch, and Alistair's hands moved down to carelessly rip her panties off.

Calloused hands travelled down over her buttocks and firmly gripped her thighs, and her stomach flipped as she was hoisted up. Instinctively wrapping her legs about Alistair's waist, she lost her breath as she felt him inside her. She vaguely wondered when he'd had a chance to finish undressing, but she couldn't care less when he began moving, the rough stone walls tearing at her back with every thrust.

Her weight shifted as he backed away from the wall and, without leaving her, turned and walked to one of the examination tables. A few careful maneuvers, and he was laying back on the wooden surface, his hands resting on her hips, a silent command for her to take over. She rested her palms on his stomach as she began to roll her hips, and his eyes shut tight. A small grin shaped her lips, and she leaned forward to kiss him. For all the carnality of the act, the meeting of their lips was tender, gentle and everything that was sweet and innocent; juxtaposition that defined all that was Alistair and Arais.

As his hips began to thrust in time with her movements, his arms snaked around her, holding her to his chest in a vice grip as he began a furious pace that she was hard-pressed to match. She could feel their heartbeats throbbing in synchronized rhythms, her heart nearly tearing its way out of her chest. Tension in her lower belly was building to such an excruciating extreme, she was sure she'd split in half.

Arais broke free of his grasp and, with a glare, Alistair reached to where they were intimately joined. With his thumb, he searched and found., eliciting a cry from Arais—a guttural sound that seemed to reverberate endlessly in the relative silence of the clinic. Tears began to streak down her cheek in icy trails against her skin—flushed and burning with a fever borne of passion—as the tension snapped violently, sending paralyzing spasms throughout her body.

She reached up and fingered the amulet around her neck for a moment. An odd feeling washed over her, swirling around her like a silk gown in a light breeze. Renewed energy sizzled in her recently spent muscles, and she began to move again, a tentative pace to test her sudden second wind. When not a single sign of exhaustion presented itself, she began kissing along Alistair's collar bone, nipping gently until she found her destination and began sucking deliberately at the sensitive patch of flesh.

Hearing Alistair curse under his breath, his pace returned to its previous fervor, and as Arais felt his muscles tense as he reached completion, her entire being swelled and burst with her second climax. She breathed his name loudly before going limp. Her heart was fluttering spastically in her breast, and she sighed contentedly before rolling off of Alistair, molding her body against his side.

Alistair was breathing heavily as he wrapped his arm around her, looking down when Arais let out a low hiss, her back screaming at the contact. "What's the matter, love?"

"My back," she said quietly, reluctantly sitting up. When he groaned regretfully, she turned slowly to look at him, the pain in her back growing more apparent. "What? What is it?"

"Your back looks like a Hurlock's backside," he stated, a trace of humor in his voice, "except in a less-rotted-more-bloody way."

"You're an ass, Alistair." She hissed again as she moved her legs around to stand. She was oddly… mobile, considering her recent exertions. She shook her head at the memory of Zevran's attempt to assist Alistair in his love-making technique, completely unaware that the silence was one of their many failed attempts at discretion.

"I am far too handsome to be a mule, my dear. And before you say it, I know I'm a bastard."

"Well, I _wouldn't_ have been referring to the fatherless kind," she shot back, grinning over her shoulder at his mock-offended glare before standing and crossing to where her robes lay on the dusty ground. "You may want to get dressed. I can't be sure how long Anders has been gone, and it would be… unfortunate... if he found us in this state."

"Always so modest," he teased as he got up from the examination table himself. "Though I'm in no position to judge: I hated changing in front of the other Wardens. I always felt as if they were staring at me or something."

As she pulled on her robes, she tossed a sly smile his way. "Who could blame them?"

* * *

><p>Several hours later, Anders was shaking his head as he ascended the last flight of stairs before he reached the entrance to his clinic. The next time some fool came to him for help with a child birth that he'd thought he could handle on his own, Anders was going to kick his arse out of the clinic faster than the father-to-be could say elfroot. He opened the door quickly, expecting to return to an empty clinic. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Arais seated at one of his examination tables, her robes unfastened, though still covering anything he didn't necessarily want to see.<p>

"Uh… can I help you?" She nodded as she stood, back to him, and began to lower her robes. Before he could protest, his eyes fell on what he was clearly intended to see. "Andraste's tits, woman, what happened to you? Your back looks like ground up meat!"

"That's a better comparison than what Alistair came up with," she said in response. "As for what happened, well… er…"

"Maker, Arais…" Her skin darkened as she turned and met his gaze, and he shook his head. "If Justice loses it, you're the one that has to talk him down."

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><p><strong>::passes out:: I'm never pulling an all-nighter for you blighters ever again. Naughty things happen.<strong>

**twixtnightandmorn. 'nough said.**


	13. Chapter 13: Remember

_It looks like they took him to some bolt hole on the Wounded Coast. I wonder if that's near the Injured Cliffs? The Limping Hills? Massive-Head-Trauma Bay? No? Just me? Forget I said anything. - Hawke_

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><p>A knock at her bedchamber door roused Gwyneth from a restless sleep. Images of Bethany's face ashen with the Blight haunted her dreams most nights, and this late afternoon's nap ended with no different a result. She opened her eyes slowly, smiling a little when amethyst met peridot.<p>

"Mistress Hawke?" Bodahn's words were winded, clearly not used to climbing the stairs. "That pirate lass, Isabela, is downstairs. She says she has urgent news."

"I'll be down in a moment, Bodahn," she called, getting out of bed. As she dressed, Gwyneth could here Fenris begin moving around as he did the same. When she'd slipped her blades behind her, she turned to see Fenris pulling on his gauntlets, staring at her. "Is something the matter?"

"Would you like me to leave without being seen?" he asked with a flat tone.

"Why would I want you to do that? Fenris… I may not tell everybody of my personal affairs, but in no way does that imply that I want to keep our relationship a secret." She eyed him pointedly. "Do you?"

He moved around the bed to stand in front of her, placing a hand on her cheek. "Not at all."

* * *

><p>Isabela looked up from Hawke's writing desk as she heard footsteps descending the stairs. "It's about bloody time you—" Her words died when she saw who was coming down the stairs. "Fenris?"<p>

"Isabela," he said, nodding in greeting.

"I can hardly blame you for leaving me waiting now, Hawke," she said slyly, masking the twinge of jealousy she felt.

"So what was important enough that poor Bodahn had to drag himself up the stairs to get me?" Gwyneth tossed a sympathetic glance at her dwarven manservant before fixing her gaze on Isabela again.

"Well, it seems our dear Merrill sensed something different about Alistair, and she's figured out exactly what that is." Hawke cocked on eyebrow in curiosity while Fenris crossed his arms. "She believes he's half elf."

Gwyneth stared at the pirate with stunned disbelief. "Could you repeat that, please? I couldn't have heard you correctly. The bastard son of King Maric is half… elf? How is that possible?"

"Well, you see Hawke: When a man and a woman—in this case a human and an elf, respectively—love each other very much—"

"Maker, I know _that_! What I meant was that I can't believe that Maric had an affair with an elf and it was never discovered."

"Until now, anyway," Fenris pointed out. "Alistair doesn't look elven. How did Merrill 'sense' this?"

"She said it had something to do with her training as First." Isabela looked between Hawke and Fenris, the former's expression unchanged from disbelief. "What are we going to do about this?"

"Nothing, for now," Gwyneth said quickly. "It's a delicate situation. I should probably talk to Arais about it before I make any decisions."

Fenris nodded in agreement. "She will know what to do."

"I do believe I heard respect in your voice, Fenris," Isabela teased. "And referring to a mage, of all things! It seems you're softening."

"Arais is not like other mages, Isabela. I would be a fool to not recognize that." Gwyneth reached out a hand and placed it on his arm, and he looked at her briefly before returning his attention to Isabela. "It does not mean that I will foolishly begin to trust all mages. She is simply an exception to the rule."

"Spoilsport," Isabela teased. "Well, the Hanged Man is calling. You two behave yourselves. Or don't. I know I wouldn't."

* * *

><p>Fenris entered his borrowed mansion through a back window, having removed the bars that had previously covered it. He had removed all the bars upon first taking the mansion, the claustrophobic feeling they caused a result of his years with Danarius.<p>

Looking around as he climbed the stairs, he noticed the thin layer of dust coating the railing, and the cobwebs decorating the corners of the room. At first this had only been a temporary living place, and he'd had no intention of staying as long as he had. But here he was, three years later, following a woman that he couldn't stand up until recently. Now she was an obsession: one that rivaled his hatred of mages and his hunt for Danarius.

He opened the door to the master bedroom and crossed to the fireplace, adjusting the kindling before lighting it; stoking the flames until they began licking and spitting, writhing violently as they reached for the flue. When he sat on the bench close to the fire, his gaze fell on the copy of the _Book of Shartan _that Gwyneth had given him. He'd yelled at her in his frustration, knowing full well that he would never be able to read it. Or so he'd thought, until Hawke had told him that it wasn't too late to learn, and even offered to teach him how.

An ache Fenris couldn't place settled in his chest, leaving him to wonder at the cause. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander for once, and almost instantly regretted it. Flashes of long, wavy black hair tucked behind pointed ears flickered across his conscious, light green eyes set in an impossibly beautiful pale face, dark pink lips smiling at him lovingly. Long, slender fingers reached for his hand, and he looked down to see a child's hand, free of the markings long since burned into his flesh.

"My little Leto." The distant, song-like voice of the woman rang delicately in his memory, and Fenris' eyes flew open. The ache in his chest had intensified, and, to his mortification, tears were streaming down his cheeks rapidly. He closed his eyes again, desperately wishing he could return to that vision of beauty, wanting that sense of calm to envelop him once again. He was feeling so much at once, it felt as if he were going to burst and he was powerless to stop it.

Standing abruptly, he doused the flames and rushed from the room. He had no idea where he was heading: he only knew he couldn't remain there any longer.

* * *

><p><strong>So much is going on in this story, I think my head is going to explode. I really hope I don't lose track and have things get out of hand... anyway, standard thanks to twixtnightandmorn. Hope everyone enjoyed!<strong>


	14. Chapter 14: Diversion

_ For one who professes to be a warrior, I find it remarkably weak-willed and indecisive. - Shale_

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><p>Gwyneth's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, a sign of a deep sleep that she seemed to have been denied lately. An Orlesian silk nightdress accentuated her curves, the delicate fabric disappearing beneath the blankets at her waist. Her hand lay on her belly, the dark skin contrasting sharply with the lilac color of the silk. Her head was turned in his direction, and if she were to wake up, there was no doubting he'd be dodging the dagger she kept under her pillow. Fenris wasn't entirely surprised this is where he had ended up after hours of wandering Kirkwall, lost in the daze his most recently recovered memory had left him.<p>

The fire crackled, and he briefly wondered if the slave girl Gwyneth had rescued from Hadriana had been teaching her to play the lute resting against the fireplace. Fenris had heard Orana play: melodies that entwined with the soul and provoked memories that hadn't fully formed. The idea that the result could be different if he heard the songs again now terrified him.

"When do you plan on moving from that corner and joining me, Fenris?" Hawke asked, pulling him from his thoughts. A small smile graced her lips, but her eyes remained closed.

"How long have you been awake?" She opened her eyes and propped herself on an elbow, shrugging. "You should have said something sooner."

She shrugged again. "I was curious to see what you would do. I never can tell with you."

"Does that bother you?" he asked, removing his armor and crossing the room to climb into bed with her.

"Sometimes. It seems that's how you prefer it, though. I'm willing to respect that. Though I'm not going to give up trying to understand what goes on in that head of yours. You've been warned."

He chuckled. "I appreciate the warning. I apologize for intruding like this. I only—"

"No need to apologize. You're welcome here any time. I only wonder why you didn't come sooner." He watched as Hawke studied his face, arching an eyebrow at what she saw. "Something is wrong."

"It seems you can read me better than you let on, Hawke."

She ignored him. "What is it? Did you remember something else?"

He turned his cheek into her hand when she reached up in concern. He nodded against her palm. "Yes, an elven woman. Pale skin, black hair, and light green eyes. I was a child, and she called me her 'little Leto'."

"Could that be your real name?"

"Perhaps," Fenris replied as he looked into the fire, his curiosity to learn more of his past burning hotter than the flames. "That isn't as important to me as finding out who the woman is. She was so familiar."

"We'll figure it out, Fenris." She looked away before asking, "Have you followed up on your sister at all?"

He nodded, but didn't say anything on the subject. Thinking of his sister only reminded him of Hadriana, and that hatred was still too strong. He didn't want to bring her memory back when he was with Hawke. It felt wrong, somehow.

To keep her from persisting, Fenris moved over her, dipping his head to kiss her firmly. He pulled back and looked into her eyes—filled with all the concern he'd become accustomed to with Hawke. She lifted her head and recaptured his lips, and he allowed himself to get lost in her.

* * *

><p>Arais descended the stairs into the main room of the Hanged Man, looking around until she spotted Isabela with a young elven woman, the two playing a card game. Isabela seemed to not be taking it quite as seriously as the elf—her look of concentration rivaling Oghren's when his flask was empty.<p>

Chuckling quietly to herself, she walked over to the table the two were at and took a seat relatively between them. She identified it as Wicked Grace—a game she had never quite been able to master when she played the Wardens at Vigil's Keep. She was convinced they had been cheating, but it didn't matter. Playing cards was just a release that was sorely needed during the never-ending effort to clean up the mess the Architect had made of Amaranthine.

"Kitten, the trick to this game is focusing on the other players and finding their tells. When you can do that, you'll be nigh unbeatable."

"Oh, I'll never be that good. I'm not nearly clever enough." When the elf drew her next card, she frowned. "Elgar'nan! The Angel of Death already? You get all the luck, Isabela."

"I make my own luck, Merrill. You just need to learn how to do that yourself. That's what I'm here for."

"Why are you so nice to me? You and Varric are the only ones who seem to like me. I don't even think Hawke cares all that much for me," Merrill said quickly. Before Isabela could answer, the elf turned to Arais and her eyes widened. "I'm sorry! I didn't see you there. You must be the Warden Commander."

"It's alright, no worries," she offered a comforting smile to the clearly socially awkward mage. "You can call me Arais."

"You're different than I would have imagined. Prettier," Merrill said, her words tumbling out quickly. Something told Arais this young elf hadn't had much experience with humans. It reminded her of some of a few Dalish elves that had been recruited to the Wardens, and she couldn't hold back the smile. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I'm apologizing too much, aren't I? I do that sometimes."

"Calm down, Kitten," Isabela ordered gently. "You're rambling again."

"Oops, sorry."

Merrill went silent, and Arais held back another smile. The elf was adorable, she couldn't deny that. "Have either of you seen Hawke today? I haven't seen her since yesterday morning."

"I saw her last night. She was with Fenris. I wouldn't be surprised if she still is. I would be, were I her..." Isabela's voice trailed off, her eyes distant. She shook her head, then turned back to Arais. "My point is, she's probably still at her estate. I could bring you there, if you like?"

"That would be great."

Isabela smiled cheekily. "That's me. I'm a helper."

* * *

><p><strong>As a side-note, I just want to say that my last line is my favorite line from Isabela. I love it. Of course, I also adore the conversation it's originally from. So funny. Thanks to twixtnightandmorn, again. Would not be as inspired to do this story without her constant support.<strong>

**Reviews are appreciated always. They inspire me to please, though I aim to please as it is...**


	15. Chapter 15: Reasoning

_The past is important, to you and to all of us. We must know it to move forward. - Merrill_

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><p>The stone beneath Merrill's feet was warm where the sun washed over it as she, Isabela and Arais traveled through Hightown. She looked around in wonder at the stone buildings stretching toward the sky, vines hugging the outer walls in winding patterns. It reminded Merrill of the ruins near where her clan had been when she'd left, and a pang of homesickness twisted her heart. As they approached the outside of the Hawke estate, the door opened slowly, almost hesitantly, before Fenris crossed the threshold into the bustle of Hightown. Merrill's eyes fixed on him, and he remained silent as his gaze fell on the three women approaching the estate.<p>

Fenris nodded at Isabela, who was looking at him with a wicked grin. She stepped aside as he began to walk forward, stopping in front of Arais. A solemn look was on his face as he stated, "Warden Commander," then continued past her, disregarding Merrill completely. Merrill couldn't care less if he liked her or not, but it irked her that he could so easily respect Arais, a mage he had only just met. She watched him walk away in disbelief, and only when he was out of view did she turn her focus back on her companions.

"See? What did I tell you?" Isabela said over her shoulder with a smirk. Arais laughed, shaking her head as she followed the pirate up the steps.

"Shouldn't we knock first?" Merrill asked, surprised as the pirate reached to open the door.

"Please," Isabela snorted. "We've known Hawke for three years, now. When was the last time she knocked when she visited you at the alienage?"

"That's the alienage, though. This is Hightown. There must be some sort of… etiquette… to visiting the estates."

Isabela sighed. "Kitten, when have I ever been known for my 'etiquette'?"

"Well, according to Varric—oh wait, that was rhetorical, wasn't it?" Merrill relaxed slightly. "I'm sorry. You're right. I'm sure Hawke wouldn't mind if we just went in."

"That's my girl."

* * *

><p>"There you are, dear," Leandra said from where she stood by the writing desk. "I feel as if I haven't seen you in days."<p>

Gwyneth turned to look at her, smiling. "I'm sorry, Mother. The past few days have been… eventful, to say the least."

Out of the corner of her eye, Leandra saw someone enter the main room from the entrance hall. The pirate woman, Isabela, was followed by the elven girl and a woman she had never seen before.

"Warden Commander?" Bodahn's eyes lit with recognition, and he smiled brightly. Leandra's mouth fell open slightly, but she remained silent. "Never thought I'd see you again, messere."

"Well, if it isn't my favorite dwarven merchant," the Hero of Ferelden said with a bright smile, turning from the elder dwarf to his 'son'. "Hello, Sandal."

"Enchantment!" Sandal cried, clapping his hands together excitedly.

"It's good to see you again, as well," she said emphatically in response. "I'm glad to see you two found a safe place after the Blight."

"We owe it all to you, of course. We'd probably have ended up darkspawn fodder if we hadn't tagged along with you and your friends."

"Oh, I doubt that."

"Gwyneth," Leandra whispered, drawing her daughter's attention away from the reunion. "Did you know the Warden Commander would be coming by this morning?"

"I hadn't the slightest idea." She gave her mother an apologetic smile before turning back to their guest. "So what brings you here, Arais?"

Arais looked over to Gwyneth, a grin still painted on her face. "I was just wondering where you had disappeared to. What with everything that's happened since we ran into each other, I was surprised to not see you around more."

"I told you what was keeping her," Isabela said with a wink at Hawke. "We ran into him outside."

"Isabela…" Gwyneth groaned. Leandra smiled knowingly at her daughter as she turned to look at her, embarrassment darkening her cheeks. How that girl thought she could keep her relationships a secret from her own mother was beyond her.

"It's an honor to have you in my home, Warden Commander." Leandra bowed her head slightly in greeting.

"Please, call me Arais. Gwyneth tells me we're family: I think it's only appropriate we address each other as such."

"As you wish," she replied, smiling graciously. This was far from how she had imagined meeting Revka's Circle-raised daughter, Commander of the Grey and Hero of Ferelden. "Will you be joining us for lunch?"

Arais smiled and nodded her head. "I'd love to."

"Isabela, Merrill, you're welcome to stay as well," Gwyneth added quickly, and Leandra looked at her daughter, surprised. The young Hawke met her mother's gaze and shrugged. "What?"

* * *

><p>"There's a reason I asked you two to stay," Gwyneth said to Isabela and Merrill when Leandra disappeared into the estate. "It has to do with what you told me last night, Isabela. About Alistair."<p>

"You told her?" Merrill cried, her green eyes like saucers in her pale face as she looked at the pirate.

"Of course, Kitten. I'm a terrible gossip, you know that." Isabela turned back to Hawke with a half grin. "So what of it?"

Gwyneth focused on Merrill. "Are you absolutely certain?"

"Certain of what?" Arais asked, her brow furrowed. "Is something the matter with Alistair that I should be aware of?"

A look passed between the other three before Merrill said, "Alistair is part elf. I think. When Isabela and I accompanied him to the clinic yesterday, I sensed he wasn't entirely human. There's no way I could explain it, or prove it, for that matter."

"That's not possible. Alistair's mother was a serving girl at Redcliffe castle. He told me so himself. She died immediately after he was born, according to his half-sist—What are you staring at?"

Arais was looking at Merrill, whose eyes were focused on the amulet the other mage was wearing. The elf reached out a hand to grasp the pendant, and her eyes widened even further, oblivious to the three sets of eyes gazing at her with intent incredulity.

"Kitten, you're scaring us." Isabela placed a hand on Merrill's shoulder. "What is it?"

"This belonged to an elf," she replied distractedly, lifting the amulet gently.

"How can you tell?" Gwyneth stared at the amulet, the image of Andraste's flame engraved on the silver pendant. It was cracked, and had clearly been repaired at some point, but the picture was still clear.

"It used to have blood inside it, I can sense it. The blood belonged to an elf. There's something else, though…" Merrill trailed off, her brows knitting together in concentration. "The blood is tainted. The Blight."

"The… Blight? You mean to say the blood that was in this pendant belonged to not only an elf, but a Grey Warden?" Arais' voice was low, shocked. "You have got to be shitting me."

"No, not at all," Merrill said, looking up at Arais. She dropped the pendant and straightened in her seat. "Whose amulet is it?"

"It belonged to Alistair's mother." Arais looked at Gwyneth. "Maker, how am I supposed to tell him that Arl Eamon lied to him for more than twenty years?"

"We don't know for sure that he lied," Gwyneth said reassuringly before turning to Merrill. "Is there any possible way you can confirm what you felt?"

"I know what I felt, Hawke," Merrill replied defensively, almost glaring. "But if you want, we could bring him to Keeper Marethari. She'd be able to tell beyond a shadow of a doubt."

"That'll go over well." Isabela's tone was dry as she continued, "'Alistair, we're going to Sundermount to see a Dalish Keeper who can tell us whether or not you're half elf, based solely on the fact that our elven blood mage 'sensed it' when she and Isabela brought you to Anders' clinic.'" She shook her head. "He'll either go stark raving mad, or laugh his head off."

"Then we won't tell him that's why we're going," Gwyneth said sharply. "Merrill needs an artifact from the clan to continue her work on that mirror she keeps in her house. I'll just bring Alistair along instead of Fenris, since he never seems too thrilled when I bring him along to help Merrill."

"When do you want to head out?" Arais asked, fingering the pendant idly.

"As soon as we can find Alistair and convince him to come along. Is he back at the Hanged Man?" When the mage nodded, Gwyneth stood swiftly. "Well, no time like the present, then. Shall we?"

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry the wait between chapters has become longer and longer. I've been battling insomnia, migraines, my insane mother planning a party that isn't for another week and having to washspray paint plastic chairs, clean the kitchen and all this other insane shit that seems to be the definition of my life. So if days go by and no new chapter, don't fret. It's being written, I just have less time to work on it. I would never abandon this story. I've put too much into it already to give up.**

**Thanks to twixtnightandmorn for the help she was able to give on this chapter when she was awake. But for the first time since I start writing, she hasn't seen the finished product before everyone else, because I was too impatient to wait until morning. Don't hate me, Twixty!**


	16. Chapter 16: Unprepared

_Look at that! A live one! What are the chances? - Oghren_

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><p>Arais opened up her rucksack back at the Hanged Man, checking her supplies before she set off with the others for Sundermount. A roll of bandages and thread rested in the side pocket, and a pouch of herbs and powders, along with her mortar and pestle, were settled in a pocket on the inside with a half dozen empty flasks. There were plenty of health poultices—her reserve for when she was too spent to heal—but when she checked the compartment for her lyrium potions, she found only one flask left She had used the last of her lyrium dust making her last batch of potions, so she would just have to have Gwyneth take her to an apothecary before they headed out.<p>

Closing the bag and fastening the buckles, she secured it on her back, followed by her staff. She headed down to the main room of the tavern, making her way to the table where her party was gathered. Arais sat next to Alistair, who looked at her with a smile before falling back into conversation with Isabela and Hawke. Merrill was quiet, looking extremely uncomfortable and finding a spot on the table very interesting.

"Do you have everything you need?" Gwyneth asked a few moments later, drawing Arais' gaze away from the elven girl.

"Almost. I'm nearly out of lyrium potions, so I'll need to get some before we leave."

"We'll head to the Gallows now. I have something for the apothecary, Solivitus, anyway."

Isabela stood from her seat, a half smile lifting the corner of her mouth. "As fun as this little adventure sounds, I won't be joining you. I'm playing Wicked Grace with Varric and Fenris tonight, and I'm going to wipe the floor with them."

"Only because you'll cheat, Isabela," Gwyneth teased, now standing. She turned to the others. "Let's get a move on, shall we? I'd hate to have to explore Sundermount in the dark. I've run into enough revenants there to make that less than desirable."

"I hate those bloody things," Arais groaned. "I'm a mage: I do my best fighting from a distance. But those blighters drag me right to them."

"Well, here's hoping I've already taken care of them all."

* * *

><p>Passing under the archway that led into the Gallows, Gwyneth looked around. The feeling of oppression hadn't lifted a bit since she and her family had arrived in Kirkwall: in fact, she could sense it getting worse. She saw Thrask frowning, his gaze focused on the young Starkhaven mage, Grace. He'd tried everything in his power to free her, and Grace still blamed him for their recapture. Something told Gwyneth that saving that particular mage was going to come back and bite her in the ass, but she shrugged it off as paranoia.<p>

She looked over and saw Cullen in a less than enthusiastic conversation with another Templar—Karras, she believed his name was. He looked over to her and nodded, his face draining of color when he saw the rest of her party. Gwyneth cocked an eyebrow in confusion as she turned her head, following his gaze. When the only thing to fall into her line of vision was Arais, she only became more confused.

Gwyneth pressed on, deciding to simply ask Arais about it later. They needed to focus on the task at hand, and she had a feeling that there would be nothing quick about approaching Arais about the Knight-Captain. There was a level of urgency in getting to Sundermount that surpassed any other priority, including Gwyneth's insatiable curiosity.

Moving in the direction of where Solivitus set up shop, she ignored the glare she received from Grace as she passed by, continuing forward purposefully. All she had to do was give him the Harlot's Blush she'd found in the Wounded Coast and buy Arais her lyrium potions, and they could be on their way.

When they had completed their business with the apothecary, Gwyneth turned and led them back into the Gallows courtyard. Just when she had thought they were going to get out without incident, the footsteps that had been following close behind her stopped suddenly. She turned slowly to see Arais frozen in place, her gaze focused on the very Templar Gwyneth had been hoping to avoid.

"Cullen?" Arais whispered, her cheeks darkening almost imperceptibly.

"Maker, it is you," Cullen breathed, approaching the party slowly. He stopped a few feet from Arais. "What are you doing in Kirkwall?"

"I, uh… came here looking for him," she said, making a stiff gesture to Alistair, who looked about as confused as Gwyneth felt. "Why are _you_ here?"

"I left the Templars in Ferelden after an… incident when the Circle had recovered from the damage Uldred had caused. I found my way to Kirkwall, and Knight-Commander Meredith let me join the Order here. She believed my experience with blood mages and abominations would be useful."

Arais eyed him, and doubt glistened in her gray eyes. "I heard what happened from Knight-Commander Greagoir. I'm happy to see you're doing well."

"Small world we live in, isn't it?" Gwyneth asked with a grin. "I take it you were a Templar when Arais was in the Circle?"

Cullen nodded, his eyes never leaving the mage in question. "She saved my life when the tower was taken over by blood mages."

"A lot more than a Blight happened after Ostagar, didn't it? I met a woman a few years back that was looking for ingredients for a potion at the Dalish camp. She said it was to help werewolves that were losing control of the humanity they had regained."

Alistair lifted his brows. "See, Arais? I knew we should have helped the elves. It looks like the werewolves can revert back to their feral nature."

"You knew about the werewolves?" Hawke asked, eyes wide as she turned to Arais. "What is it with our family and attracting the most ridiculous amount of danger?"

"Perhaps we're cursed?"

Gwyneth laughed, nodding and looking up at the sky. The sun was further west than she would have liked, and she realized they had to get going if they were going to make it to Sundermount before dark. "I hate to break up this little reunion, but we need to hurry. The sun isn't going to wait for us before it sets."

"True enough," Arais said, looking back at the Knight-Captain and nodding. "Cullen."

He only nodded back in response, and Gwyneth's curiosity rose significantly when Arais hurried away from the group. After a hurried farewell to the Templar, Gwyneth rushed to catch up with her cousin, fully aware that there was more to Arais' acquaintance with Cullen than the standard mage-Templar fare. She was definitely going to have to ask her about this when they returned from their journey.

* * *

><p><strong>Yep. Cullen. I actually do have the Cullen mod on my PC, so...<strong>

**Thanks to twixtnightandmorn again for all her help. Wouldn't be able to keep myself motivated without her! ^.^**


	17. Chapter 17: Revealed

_That's what I'm here for. To deliver unpleasant news and witty one-liners. - Alistair_

* * *

><p>Alistair felt the welcome they received from this Dalish clan was no different than the elves they had met in Ferelden as he looked around the camp: completely silent save for the crackle of the fire burning in the center of the clearing. The only significant difference he faced was the lack of elves sick with the curse set on the human tribe responsible for the deaths of Zathrian's children. It seemed to be business as usual—or at least what he assumed was business as usual in a Dalish clan.<p>

He watched as Gwyneth and Merrill approached a slight, older elven woman, the end of her staff rising from behind her shoulder like a skeletal arm, the fingers twisting, grasping for the sky. She had the same air of respect about her that he had attributed to Zathrian, and he determined that this woman must be the Keeper. His two companions had pulled several yards ahead of him and Arais, but before he could quicken his pace to catch up, Arais turned and stopped him. Alistair lifted an eyebrow: her expression was oddly nervous, her eyes flickering from side to side in an obvious attempt to avoid meeting his. A worried frown tugged at the corners of her mouth, and it was clear that something was wrong.

"What is it, Arais?" he asked. She continued to evade his gaze, her head turning slightly as she looked over her shoulder. His gaze followed hers to their other companions, who were now in a heated conversation about… something. The only thing Alistair was certain of was that they were looking directly at him with a searing focus. "Why the Void are they staring at me like that? Did I step on a squirrel? Because, as cute as they are, they're the rats of the forest. You could toss a stone in any direction and hit one of those bushy-tailed blighters."

When the woman before him remained silent—opting to continue staring at the three other women, who were watching him vigilantly—Alistair sighed. He was tempted to approach them and ask them what was going on directly, but he had never been one for confrontations unless it was absolutely necessary, because they tended to go horribly wrong for him.

The older woman was now studying him with an intense look that caused Alistair to squirm a bit in discomfort, feeling oddly like a small animal that had been spotted by a hawk. Her gaze didn't falter in the slightest when he met it dead on, and he eventually had to look away, intimidated by the woman's tenacity. It felt as if the wide eyes weren't just seeing the surface: more like they were burrowing into his soul and attempting to uncover his most guarded secrets.

Deliberately tearing his gaze away from the elder elven woman, he focused his attention on the younger elf, whose expression was full of hope and anticipation as she stared at the Keeper. Merrill's anxiety was contagious, and he shifted his weight from leg to leg impatiently as he looked back at Arais, who was still staring over her shoulder.

After a quarter of an hour, Arais turned back to Alistair and gave him a tentative half smile that didn't fully form before it was lost again. Behind her, the three other women were now talking, the oldest still looking at Alistair, though it was now in subdued astonishment. She had seen something, that much was certain, but he couldn't be sure it was something the elven woman was thrilled to see.

Gwyneth nodded at something the Keeper said before walking back over to Alistair and Arais. "Keeper Marethari would like to speak to you."

"What about?" Alistair asked, his voice betraying his wariness.

"It's nothing bad. Well, depending on how you look at it." Hawke's composure faltered momentarily before she gathered herself. "Just think of it this way: if it upsets you, you'll have the option to kill something immediately after. We got roped into killing a Varterral that's been attacking the clan's hunters."

"That's… reassuring," he said, unconvinced. "I have a sinking feeling that my entire world is going to be turned upside-down by this." He looked to Arais. "You'll come with me, won't you?"

She nodded and turned as he stepped up beside her, and they slowly approached Marethari, her silver hair glistening in the sunlight that broke through the overcast. Green eyes looked up at him with the wisdom that only came with the experience of years, and he bowed his head in respect. Something about the way she carried herself commanded it, and, being almost a full foot shorter than he was, that was an impressive feat.

She held out her hand, a familiar amulet resting in the palm. "I was told this belonged to your mother. Is that true?" He nodded, a little surprised that he hadn't noticed it was missing from around Arais' neck. "There's something you must know, da'len," the Keeper said, her voice uncommonly soothing as an aura of calm enveloped him.

"This amulet once held a small amount of blood," Marethari began, her eyes holding Alistair's gaze, though not a hint of the intimidation that act had caused earlier was now present. "Though time has aged it and weakened the power that one with magic could sense within, the remnants were able to tell us much about the woman to whom the blood belonged.

"The blood was tainted with the corruption, so it seems your mother was a Grey Warden. However, there is something more: it didn't belong to a human." Arais had grasped his hand, her warmth penetrating the silverite gauntlet he wore. He could sense his confusion showing plainly on his face before Marethari continued. "The blood was elven, da'len."

"Elven," he echoed, the word suddenly foreign to him. If the blood in the amulet was elven, then that meant… "I'm an elf?"

"Half elf, but yes," Merrill replied quickly, making her continued presence amongst them known.

"My mother was an elf… and a Grey Warden? And nobody ever told me? Why would Eamon lie to me about that?" He lifted his free hand to his face, covering his eyes in an attempt to ward off the ache that was growing behind his eyes. A thought occurred to him, and he huffed out a short laugh. "One good thing: I don't have to feel guilty about refusing to help that tart, Goldanna, since she's not my half-sister after all."

* * *

><p><em>His attention was drawn by the elven girl's copper hair, incandescent in the winter sun. She was smiling at him despite her violent shaking, protected from the cold by nothing but ragged, hand-me-down robes that once belonged to their master. There was a thick blanket of snow covering the ground, but he didn't feel the sharp bite of the frost on his exposed skin. He went to speak, but the girl held her forefinger up to her lips to quiet him.<em>

_Walking over to her when she gestured to him, she wrapped her arms around him lovingly. He felt safe, protected. A neat pile of sticks was stacked before them, and he looked up at the girl, the glare of the sun on her pale face blinding him. He felt himself shivering, though he felt nothing of the cold that caused it. _

"_It's alright, Brother, I'll keep us warm," she said with a reassuring smile, her hand glowing orange with flame as it hovered over the bundle of sticks, igniting them._

Fenris' eyes flew open and he quickly sat up, the memory burning in his conscious. He didn't recognize his surroundings at first, but relaxed significantly when he turned to see Hawke lying next to him, her eyes open and curious as she lifted herself on an elbow, placing her hand on his arm.

"Another memory?" she asked, squeezing his arm lightly. He only nodded in response. "The same woman?"

He shook his head. "A young girl this time. She had red hair. I couldn't see her face very well, but she called me Brother." He breathed deep, his composure still shaky. "I believe it was Varania."

* * *

><p><strong>I'm so getting beaten up for this. I can feel it.<strong>

**Thanks to twixtnightandmorn for all the support and stuff. I'd be lost without her.**


	18. Chapter 18: Regret

_He has a point there. If a single spell could win the battle I would not question its source._

_Your charming companion is quite correct. You'd do well to heed her advice._

_- Morrigan and Avernus_

* * *

><p>Knocking back the remainder of her whiskey, Isabela stared across the table at Varric. It was late, but they were so engrossed in their game of Wicked Grace, the two rogues hadn't noticed much of anything since Alistair and Arais had returned from Sundermount an hour earlier. Isabela wondered idly if they would have noticed if a firestorm began raging above them as Varric took his turn. When she drew her next card—the Angel of Death—she placed it face up on the discard pile, a silent command for the dwarf to show his hand as she laid hers out on the table.<p>

"Well, if the point of the game was to get the lousiest hand, I'd have you beat, Rivaini." Varric stacked his cards with the rest on the table, shuffling them deftly. "Another hand?"

Isabela nodded, and as she collected her hand, her attention was drawn to the entrance of the Hanged Man. There stood Merrill, her eyes red and swollen, the sheen of moisture on her cheeks glowing in the light from the torches. Isabela dropped her cards on the table and hurried over to the elf, fully aware that Varric was directly behind her.

"Kitten, what's the matter?" she asked, wrapping her arm about Merrill's shoulders and leading her back to the table where they had set up their forgotten card game. For the first time since Isabela had met the elven girl, she had nothing to say. She simply wept into the Rivaini woman's shoulder quietly, refusing to separate from her.

"Oh, Daisy," Varric said softly, standing beside the two women and placing a hand on Merrill's forearm. He seemed as lost as she was, only able to physically support the blood mage crying in Isabela's arms.

"It's all my fault," the elf whispered between unsteady breaths. "They're right. I am a monster."

Hugging Merrill tightly, Isabela mouthed to Varric that she was going to call it a night before leading the young mage up the stairs to her room. Let the drunkards talk: the chance at a new ship wouldn't convince Isabela to leave her friend.

The elf was like wet sand in Isabela's hand, allowing her to form her as she pleased. Merrill simply sat on the bed when the older woman brought her over to it, the tears still slipping down her cheeks at a steady pace. After a moment of simply sitting there, she lay down and curled into a ball on the bed, her body silently heaving with violent sobs.

Isabela lay down beside Merrill, gathering the girl in her arms as if she were a small child. "It'll be alright, Kitten. I promise."

* * *

><p>Arais caught herself wondering what had happened to Merrill as she and Alistair began settling in for the night at the Hanged Man, the memory of the young elven woman crying over the body of her fallen friend—if that's what he had been. The terror Arais had seen on his face at the sight of his former clanswoman was akin to the expressions of the many Fereldans she had seen fleeing the Blight.<p>

"How long had you known?" Alistair's voice drifted from the bed, drawing her attention from her thoughts and to him. He had taken the news of his true heritage fairly well, or so it had seemed. The uncharacteristic quiet that had followed the comment he'd made about his supposed sister had worried her, but Alistair had insisted he was just thinking.

"I only learned of it myself this afternoon. Merrill had… 'sensed' it the night she and Isabela led you to Anders' clinic." Arais removed her robes from the bucket of water she had heated, hanging them with the rest of their clothing on the rope she had rigged to use as a clothes line—something Wynne had taught her during their travels. She turned to her lover, eyes lingering momentarily on the thatch of hair that disappeared below the blankets at his waist before traveling up to meet his gaze. "I know I should have told you before we left for Sundermount, but what if Merrill had been wrong? We wanted to be sure."

"I'm not upset, Arais," he replied, giving her the half smile that made her melt. "At least, I'm not upset with _you_. For years Eamon told me my mother was a servant in his castle. If I hadn't been forced to leave Ferelden and come to Kirkwall, I'd still think that was the truth." He sat up and placed his face in his hands, the sheet slipping below his hips. "I need to go back. I want to talk to Eamon about this, get the whole story from him. Assuming Anora won't have me beheaded the moment she learns I've returned."

"She won't." Arais forced her wandering gaze back to his face. "Eamon and Teagan spent the past four years convincing Anora that you wouldn't be a threat to her rule—or her father, for that matter."

"I won't lie: I still hate the bastard, and I refuse to forgive what he did at Ostagar." Alistair took a breath. "But I wouldn't kill him, especially after what _you_ put him through. That's a fate worse than death."

Arais chuckled as she turned and hung the last of their garments on the clothes line, casting a white hot flame at the water in the bucket, evaporating the liquid entirely in a matter of minutes. "Well, there's still the matter of my magic. I was going to write Levi in the morning to let him know I'd be coming to the Peak to see Avernus: it's around the time I usually send a Warden to check on things there, anyway. Levi won't think anything out of the ordinary is happening if I were to visit now. Then we could travel to Redcliffe and ask Eamon about your real mother. Chances are if he was able to keep up a lie for more than twenty years, he knows the truth behind that lie."

Alistair nodded. "So it's official… I'm returning to Ferelden?"

"The two of us—together—yes."

After quickly putting out the flames in the torches, Arais moved lithely to the bed. Her lace trimmed nightgown rode up to her waist as she slid under the blankets and molded her body against Alistair, who had lain back on the bed upon her approach. He snaked his arm around her and held her to him tightly, and she kissed his chest before she rested her cheek upon it. She allowed her eyes to drift shut as Alistair stroked her hair lovingly, falling asleep to the steady beat of his heart.

* * *

><p><strong>O.o Yep. Another chapter within 24 hours. Why? Because it just came to me.<strong>

**Thanks to twixtnightandmorn for her help with deciding on the quote. Hope everyone enjoyed!**


	19. Chapter 19: Loathing

_Pol... what was he thinking? He acted like I was a monster._

_You are a monster._

_You're not helping._

_Good._

_- Merrill, Fenris, and Isabela_

* * *

><p>"Will you two be coming back?" Gwyneth asked, watching as Alistair made a last adjustment to his armor.<p>

Arais nodded. "There's no doubt about that. We just don't know when." She slipped her staff into the sheath behind her. "If Avernus knows anything about my abilities, he may have to train me. And then the side trip to Redcliffe will take a few days."

"We shouldn't be in Redcliffe more than a few weeks, though. My mother more than likely passed away years ago, so we won't have to search for her, even if the arl happens to know where she was."

"What makes you think she's dead?" Gwyneth was genuinely surprised by Alistair's conviction. Most who learned of living family would survive on the hope that their loved one was still alive.

"It's… complicated," he replied dubiously, with a finality that left Hawke more curious than anything. "At any rate, this could take at least a year. But we will be back."

Opening her lips to speak, Gwyneth looked at her cousin in confusion as Arais suddenly pulled her off to the side. "It's been a few days since Sundermount, and I haven't seen Merrill around. Is she doing alright?"

"Come to think of it, when I went to see her at her house in the alienage the past two days, she hasn't been there. She has a tendency to wander, but usually she ends up here at the Hanged Man with Varric and Isabela." Something occurred to her, then, "Isabela hasn't been around much either the past few days. And Varric has been uncharacteristically quiet."

"Do you think it has something to do with her?" Arais asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Possibly." Gwyneth pulled Arais into a hug, holding her cousin by the shoulders when she stepped back. "You damn well better come back. I'm sure being Warden Commander and an arlessa doesn't give you much free time, but I don't care. It was nice having you here.

"It was nice _being _here," Arais said, tossing a quick look over her shoulder, presumably at Alistair. "I don't have to be in Amaranthine as often as you'd think, though. Seneschal Varel is more than capable, and I sometimes wish I could put him in charge. I'm bloody tired of being an arlessa on top of all my duties as Warden Commander."

Nodding her understanding, Gwyneth smiled. "Well, just ask the queen to replace you. I'm sure she could find somebody capable and willing to do the job: anything for the Hero of Ferelden, no doubt."

* * *

><p>There was a knock at the door that just barely unraveled the finely woven threads of sleep, and Isabela opened her eyes reluctantly. For the third night in a row she had fallen asleep comforting Merrill, and she was beginning to wonder if the poor girl would ever recover from the loss of her friend.<p>

"Isabela, I know you're in there. Open the door."

Hawke sounded worried, and just a little pissed, and the pirate sat up quickly. "Hold on to your knickers, I'll be there in a minute." She rubbed her eyes as she stood and walked to the door, opening it with a glare. "What is it?"

"You and Merrill have been making yourselves scarce for almost three days, and Varric, for once, had no idea what was going on with either of you." She stepped into the room when Isabela moved to the side, extending her arm in an exaggerated flourish. "Where have you—oh."

"She's been like this for days now. She hardly speaks except to say it's all her fault or that she's a monster. Nothing Varric or I say has been able to convince her otherwise." Gwyneth made for the bed, but Isabela stopped her. "No. Don't. This is the first time she's slept through the night, and I won't have you waking her up. If you send Varric in here to keep an eye on her, I'll answer all your questions downstairs. Not now."

Hawke only nodded as she left the room, disbelief the commanding expression on her face. Isabela knew she was acting unlike herself, but she didn't care, so long as she was able to keep Merrill from breaking down again. The girl had barely eaten anything that hadn't been forced down her throat by either Varric or herself, and the gauntness of the elf's cheeks—stained with the evidence of her sorrow—was proof of that.

A soft whimper escaped Merrill's lips, and Isabela hurried back to the bed, resting a reassuring hand on the girl's cheek. Her muscles relaxed, and after a moment her breathing evened out as she fell back into a deep, restful sleep—at least what the pirate hoped was a restful sleep. When Isabela heard Varric and Hawke outside, she gave Merrill a quick, light kiss on the forehead before standing up and heading for the door.

* * *

><p>Anders looked up from his manifesto, sensing another mage approaching the clinic. It only took him a moment to recognize the aura as Arais', and he rested his quill on the desk and replaced the lid on the ink bottle before standing to the face the door. She entered the clinic, Alistair following close behind, and Anders ignored the twinge of disgust from his 'better' half.<p>

"What brings you here, Arais?" He frowned as he remembered the last time she had been at his clinic. "You don't need to be healed again, do you?"

Her skin darkened to a deep chocolate as she shook her head. "No, I'm fine, for the moment. I just came to say goodbye. Alistair and I are leaving for Ferelden to see that mage, and take care of a few other matters."

"You'll watch after her, I'm sure," Anders said to Alistair, taking care to pacify Justice's concern as well as reaffirm his own confidence in the former Warden. The other man nodded, the gesture saying more than any words could express. With that, Anders smiled warmly at his former companion. "It was good seeing you again, Arais."

"It was good seeing you, as well. We'll be docking in Amaranthine, so I'll head to the Keep and visit Ser Pounce-a-lot. Let him know he's missed." She smiled radiantly, proving that she loved that tabby as much as Anders did. "And hope that Varel doesn't have any pressing business that I have to take care of. I'm telling Anora to replace me. I hate politics."

"You were never very good at it, either," Anders teased, earning a glare from Arais. He held up his hands in mock surrender. "What? It's true, and you know it."

"I suppose your right. Alistair would probably be better at it than I am."

"Proba—hey!" Alistair groused with an overdone pout. "There's an insult in there, I can feel it. All those months on the road with Morrigan, you learn those sorts of things."

Arais chuckled, placing a hand on Alistair's arm. "You two never did have a nice word to say to one another. Though I did appreciate the one comment you made about her nose…"

"Oh, about how it looked like Flemeth's? Thinking back on it, it was a baseless insult. They weren't actually related, after all."

"You know," Anders started, drawing the attention of the other two, "when I first started traveling with Hawke, we went to Sundermount to return an amulet to the Dalish clan that makes camp there. Merrill accompanied us to an altar at a graveyard on the mountaintop, to perform a secret rite of some kind with the amulet. A witch was summoned by the ritual. Merrill called her Asha'bellanar, but Hawke referred to her as Flemeth. Do you suppose it's the same woman?"

"It can't be," Alistair said quickly. "Flemeth is dead. We killed her to get her grimoire for Morrigan."

Arais sighed. "Actually, that's not entirely true. Morrigan said that the grimoire held detailed instructions for an ancient ritual: one that Flemeth had been using for centuries to become immortal, essentially. It's entirely possible that, though we killed her mortal body, her spirit remained to possess another vessel."

"One that turns into a high dragon, no less," Anders added, smirking.

"She's still doing that little trick, huh?" Alistair shook his head. "So there truly is no way to ever rid ourselves of that woman, is there?"

Shaking her head, Arais put her arm around Alistair. "Try to look at the bright side, though: Morrigan is still completely mortal. And, wherever she is, she's raising Loghain's child."

"You do know how to cheer a man up, I'll give you that."

"Arais may not have a political bone in her body, but she always was able to keep the peace amongst the Wardens at the Keeps: no small feat, that." Anders looked at Arais with a small smile. "She's the reason I didn't leave the Wardens when they made me get rid of my cat."

"Would you two hush?" Arais said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Besides, we need to get moving, Alistair. This is going to be a long trip."

"There's the fearless leader I know and love," Alistair praised, eliciting a chuckle from Anders. If it weren't for Justice, Anders was certain he and the almost-Templar could have been friends. In another time, when he had been a different man, it might have been possible. But now he could only attempt to convince the spirit within him that Alistair was not a full Templar, and therefore not a threat to Arais or any other mage.

* * *

><p><strong>I detest the way everyone treats Merrill in this game. Particularly Fenris. I love him to death and all, but I literally told him to shut the fuck up and get out of my party when he called Merrill a monster. The middle of this chapter is a result of the rage that caused.<strong>

**Thanks to twixtnightandmorn for further praising my characterization of Isabela, even if I do think I'm straying a bit. **


	20. Chapter 20: Forgiven

_My little girl has grown so strong. I love you. You've always made me proud. - Leandra_

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><p>Eyes fluttering open slowly, Merrill absorbed her surroundings. There was no hesitation in determining that it was Isabela's room at the Hanged Man, but the pirate woman was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Varric was seated at the table, silent save for the scratch of his quill as he wrote in a thick tome. Lately it seemed that if Varric wasn't regaling the patrons with embellished stories of Hawke's exploits, he was writing. And, like the mysterious tale of how his crossbow was dubbed Bianca, he wouldn't reveal what he was writing.<p>

"How long have I been asleep?" she asked, drawing the dwarf's attention away from the tome.

"About twelve hours, I believe. You were exhausted." His voice was filled with concern, which also showed plainly in his face. "Are you feeling any better?"

"A little," she replied, sitting up and crossing her legs. "Where is Isabela?"

She placed his quill in the inkwell and turned in his chair to face her. "Hawke came by a few hours ago looking for the two of you. Apparently she's upset that you two haven't been around."

"I'm surprised she even cares." Merrill's voice was cross, her irritation with the rogue still fresh. "She was certainly quick to dismiss me when I went to her estate to talk about what happened."

"Of course she cares, Daisy. She went to your house in the alienage every day since you guys returned from Sundermount. She was furious that Isabela and I didn't tell her that you've been here, distraught over your friend."

"She did?" Merrill asked in disbelief. "I didn't think… she wouldn't talk to me that night. I was certain she agreed with the clan."

"Absolutely not. She was worried sick." He hopped down from the chair, gathering his tome and writing materials. "She's downstairs with Isabela now. You should go talk to her."

"Elgar'nan! I feel terrible," she lamented, covering her face with her hands. "How could I ever think something so terrible? She's been nothing but kind to me since she brought me to Kirkwall. I must seem like an ungrateful wretch."

He crossed to the bed and placed a hand on her forearm, gently pulling her hand down and away from her face. "No one could ever think that about someone as sweet as you, Daisy. Now come on, before she comes back here herself."

* * *

><p>Gwyneth looked up when she saw two figures begin descending the stairs into the main room out of the corner of her eye. Varric was leading Merrill down the stairs, and Hawke felt a pang of sympathy at the elf's appearance. Her cheeks were sallow and her eyes red and puffy. She looked bloody awful.<p>

"Maker…" she breathed, trailing off as all other words were lost to her. There was no limit to the guilt she felt at not having been there for Merrill, and she had to fight the urge to jump out of her seat and hug the girl tight. She didn't feel she deserved to.

"I can't stand to see her like this," Isabela said softly as the other two approached the table. "How are you feeling, Kitten?"

"Better. A little bit, anyway. Thank you for letting me stay with you, Isabela. It means a lot to me."

Isabela pulled the mage to sit down beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You're welcome to stay her as long as you wish. I'm happy to help."

"You're so kind to me. Kinder than I deserve." Merrill lowered her head to stare at the table, a mournful expression on her face.

"Nonsense. You deserve every kindness I can offer." Gwyneth noticed that Isabela was smiling at Merrill in a way that she had never expected from the pirate: it was almost… loving. "And don't you say a word to deny it. I refuse to believe anything negative you have to say about yourself."

Merrill only nodded, crossing her arms over her stomach protectively. This was the quietest Gwyneth had ever seen the girl, and it worried her. She had never come across as the type to fall into a spiraling depression that consumed her, and yet here she was, filled with self-loathing and regret.

"If there's anything you need, Merrill, you need only ask," Hawke said softly. "I'm only sorry you didn't think you could come to me. I must be a terrible friend."

"That's not true," Merrill replied. "I was a fool. I was convinced you hated me. It was unfair of me to think so; you have always been so wonderful and supportive of me."

"You're not a fool, nor are you a monster. You're dedicated to restoring the history of your people, a trait lacking in far too many people. And you're a capable fighter, one that I'm always happy to have at my side." Rising from the table, Gwyneth placed her hands on her hips, looking very much the part of a leader. "I'm going home, but next time I need to take care of some lowlife that's causing trouble in Kirkwall, I expect to have my trusted mage by my side helping me."

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><p>Leandra looked up from the letter she was writing to Miriam when Bodahn entered the library, a smile on his face. "A delivery just arrived for you, messere: from a mysterious suitor." He approached to hand her a note. "This message came with it."<p>

Raising a brow as he exited the room, she broke the seal and opened the letter.

_You are by far the loveliest woman I have every laid eyes upon. If I may be so bold, I propose a meeting this evening in Lowtown, outside the Hanged Man. I await your presence with an anxious heart._

She refolded the message, holding onto it with a smile. It reminded her of when she first met Malcolm, when they would sneak about the slums of Kirkwall to steal private, passionate moments. A giddy feeling rose within her at the prospect of a secret admirer, and she left the library to see the gift that had come with the note.

What she found was a bouquet of lilies, white as the winter snow, sat upon the writing desk.

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><p><strong>I'm going to hate writing the next few chapters. All That Remains was my least favorite quest, and anything I have to write involving it is going to make me angry and sick to my stomach.<strong>

**Thanks to twixtnightandmorn for her kind words and support. And to all my reviewers. I keep forgetting to thank you guys. You have NO IDEA how much I appreciate it. I love you all so much. Thankyouthankyouthankyou!**


	21. Chapter 21: Mourning

_At least it can't get any worse. Not today, anyway. It's pretty late. - Hawke_

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><p>The estate had never felt so empty. When Gamlen had left—his grief as potent as his anger—Gwyneth had remained in the library, staring into the fireplace, her elbows resting on her knees, fingers pressed to her temples. Her mother was gone, joining Bethany and Carver on the ever growing list of those she had failed to protect. She was terrified to close her eyes, afraid that the image of her mother's face would be there, ashen in death despite her continued artificial life.<p>

Standing in restless frustration, she began to pace in front of the fire, her anger growing. She could still smell the acrid stench of burning lilies, and she had to swallow back the bile rising in her throat. If she had only paid more attention, been home more often, this would never have happened. She wouldn't be responsible for the deaths of her only surviving family.

No, that wasn't true. She still had Arais. Gwyneth exited the library and headed for her writing desk, bending over a blank sheet of parchment, quill moving swiftly across the page as the words formed in her rushed script. The ink began to bleed as a droplet of moisture fell on it, and she realized she had begun crying. Her writing became jagged as the sobs wracked her body. Vaguely aware that Orana had walked up behind her, Gwyneth tried to control her near wailing, forced to cease writing by the shaking of her hands.

She slammed her fist against the table, the inkwell tipping over and spreading the liquid over the table in a black pool. Hurrying to collect her message before it was stained by the growing puddle, Gwyneth set the inkwell upright and cursed under her breath, realizing her finger tips were now hopelessly stained as she wiped them on her finery. Her crying became more desperate as she slumped in her chair, weak with grief.

She jumped when a hand rested on her shoulder, and she looked over to see Orana, her expression pained and helpless. The elven girl was at a loss, trying in vain to find a way to comfort her mistress. Gwyneth, on instinct, reached up to pat the young girl's hand before holding it gently, grateful for the contact despite it not doing a thing to ease her pain.

The main hall was silent aside from the stuttering breaths and quiet whimpers that Gwyneth would let out at random, an oppressively heavy blanket of despair surrounding those in the room. Rising from her desk, Gwyneth approached her Mabari, Dexter. He looked up at her with a sad whine, and she could swear his eyes were wetter than usual, as if he too were crying. She sat cross-legged beside the hound and rested her head on his back, wrapping her arms around him. She felt his head rest on her arm, and he released a huff of air as he whined once again.

"Come on, boy," Gwyneth said between ragged breaths, patting her leg as she stood. "Let's go upstairs."

He barked lamely, pushing himself up and following his mistress as she ascended the stairs and entered her bedchamber, climbing fully clothed into her bed.

"It's alright, Dex. You can come up this time." He hesitated before jumping up onto the bed, curling up beside her and resting his head on her stomach. She scratched his ear softly. "I'm going to miss her, boy."

Woofing his agreement, Dexter looked at her out of the corner of his eye before letting his lids drift shut, and Gwyneth opted to do the same, praying that she wouldn't be plagued by images of her mother, raised from the dead.

* * *

><p>Fenris entered the Hawke estate, nodding at Bodahn as he entered the main room. The dwarf informed him that Hawke was in her bedchamber resting, but would likely benefit from his company—she was grieving something awful.<p>

Ascending the stairs slowly, Fenris tried to gather his thoughts and find some consoling words, but realized that he was at an utter loss as to how to comfort someone. He sighed before entering Hawke's room, and noticed that she was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hair mussed and her finery wrinkled. Her Mabari was lying behind her, his head rising at the elf's entrance.

"I don't know what to say, but I am here," Fenris said, unable to come up with anything else.

"Just say something. Anything," she pleaded.

He moved to stand in front of her, seeing the markings left by her tears and feeling a twinge of sympathy. "They say death is only a journey. Does that help?"

"I suppose they say you go back to the Maker when you die," she replied noncommittally, and he sat down beside her on the bed.

"I've heard that, too." He paused, then, "To be honest, I don't think there is much point in filling these moments with empty talk."

They sat in silence after that, the only sound that of Dexter's panting. A few moments later, the Mabari hopped off the bed and trotted out of the room, leaving Fenris and Gwyneth alone.

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><p>The sound of Dexter's heavy footfalls descending the stairs tore Gwyneth from her thoughts, and she sighed heavily before standing from the bed, moving to close the bedchamber door. She glanced fleetingly at the chest that held all of the things she had left from Lothering, and a sharp pang stabbed at her heart. So much had been lost in the four years since her home had been destroyed, and now she was forced to build a new life on her own.<p>

She walked back to the bed to stand in front of Fenris, lifting one of his hands and removing the gauntlet slowly before repeating the action with the other hand. She raised his fingers to her lips and kissed them lightly, leaning into his palm as he slid his hand to rest against her cheek. His callouses were rough against her skin, and she shivered slightly.

Stripping out of her finery, Gwyneth tossed her clothing to the side and began removing Fenris' armor. He aided her as needed, leaning back on the bed as she climbed on top of him, her need to regain some semblance of control nearly overwhelming. She leaned forward to kiss him again, this time more fervently, desperate to banish the emptiness she felt. Reaching a hand between then, she guided him to the juncture of her thighs, sheathing him hilt deep within her.

Gwyneth moaned as he began to move, filling her so completely she was nearly lost to the sensation. His movements were slow and deliberate, angling his thrusts to hit just the right spot. She whimpered a bit as the tension began to build steadily, and she rolled her hips to feel him deeper as she leaned back, relishing in the small amount of pain it caused, grateful to feel something other than emptiness and loss.

Fenris let out a low growl, grasping Gwyneth's hips and lifting her, beginning to move faster, with an urgency that matched hers. She bent down to kiss him hard, matching him thrust for thrust in a desperate frenzy, the tension in her belly tightening until it snapped, her vision going black as she collapsed against him, his own climax pulsing within her.

Feeling moisture spread across the cheek that lay on his chest, Gwyneth became aware that she was crying again. She rolled off him to the side, holding her knees to her chest as the sobs wracked her body with violent spasms, letting out near wails that held all the anguish of recent loss and undiluted grief. She felt Fenris' arms wrap around her, holding her against him so tightly that she almost couldn't breathe. She released her knees to clutch Fenris for support, sobbing into his shoulder until her emotions became too much for her body to handle, and she blacked out.

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><p><strong>Thanks to twixtnightandmorn for the kind words she had to say about this chapter. I have nothing else to say, aside from I hated writing this chapter. Absolutely detested it. I'm glad to have it out of the way.<strong>


	22. Chapter 22: Determined

_Necessary? Having to relieve yourself after an eight hour ride is necessary. But there's no excuse for summoning demons._

_Charming._

_- Alistair and Avernus_

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><p>"A message for you, Commander," the messenger said as he approached Arais, holding out a folded sheet of parchment, the Hawke insignia imprinted on the sealing wax. She broke the seal carefully, and noticed a black splotch on the upper right corner, just above the date. The letter was from six months earlier, and she could only assume it was due to the Qunari attack, news of which had been brought to her from Amaranthine when Stroud had returned from Kirkwall.<p>

_Arais,  
>Mother is dead. A mage that had been terrorizing Kirkwall the past four years kidnapped her and used her for a necromantic ritual to bring back his dead wife. It's horrifying what some mages are capable of, but I know you're nothing like them, Cousin. I only wish you had been here. Maybe you would have been able to help her.<br>As if my mother's death wasn't enough, a Templar has decided to instigate the issues with the Qunari by kidnapping four of their delegates, torturing and killing them. The Arishok is readying an invasion, I can sense it, and there's nothing I can do about it. Why is it that everything has to go to the Void all at once? Maker help us all.  
>Gwyneth<em>

Refolding the letter and placing it on the desk, Arais sank against the back of the chair in Sophia Dryden's office. She had cleaned it out years ago, when Warden business kept her at Soldier's Peak for more than a few days and she needed to take care of her duties there. Leandra's death came as nothing short of a shock, and grief for the cousin she barely knew welled up inside her. She wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye before moving the letter to a drawer, deciding that it was time to begin her training with Avernus for the day.

Before she stood, she felt fur rubbing up against her legs, and she looked under the desk to find Ser Pounce-a-lot doing figure eights around her ankles. He looked up at her and squawked, his green eyes begging for attention. Smiling, Arais leaned back again and patted her lap, scratching the cat behind the ears when he hopped up. He purred contentedly, rubbing his head against her hand forcibly if she lulled. It was nice to see him acting like this. When she visited him in Amaranthine, he hadn't been eating, and he slept most of the day, ignoring the bustle of the Keep entirely.

"I'm happy to see you're enjoying yourself here, Pounce. There seem to still be plenty of mice for you to hunt in this rundown fortress to keep you content for the time we'll be here." He meowed in response, placing his paws on her chest and nuzzling her cheek, his whiskers tickling her skin. "My, you're affectionate today. It's good to see you're getting back to your old self."

No sooner had she spoken than Ser Pounce-a-lot's ears perked, and he jumped off her lap and scurried out of the room. She shook her head as she stood from her seat, making her way out of the office and to the door that opened to the battlements leading to where Avernus performed his experiments, and now trained Arais. It had turned out that not only did he know about _Mensana_, he'd had experience with one who had mastered her abilities. He wouldn't mention the mysterious mage beyond that, but it was not of import. What mattered was that he would be able to help Arais master her abilities.

* * *

><p>A blur of orange flashed in Alistair's peripheral, but when he turned to see what was there, he found himself still alone. He wondered again at Arais' insistence on bringing her furry friend along, when it seemed the little blighter's goal in life was to stalk Alistair until he went mad. Turning quickly, he reached out his arms just as Ser Pounce-a-lot decided to launch his attack, catching the cat and pinning him to his chest. After a brief, half-hearted struggle, the orange tabby settled in Alistair's arms and purred softly, burying his head in the man's tunic.<p>

"You're more confusing than some women, you know that? I can't tell if you like me or hate me: I'd appreciate some indication one way or the other." He stroked the cat's fur gently. "Great, I'm talking to a cat. I don't have to worry about going crazy, I'm already there. You did this to me you little bastard." Pounce looked up and meowed, pressing his cold, rough nose to Alistair's chin. "Brown-noser."

"I don't know. His nose looks rather pink to me."

He turned on his heel to see Arais in the doorway to the restored library, where he had been looking over some of the old Grey Warden letters that had been left over from Sophia Dryden's day. The mage looked worn out, her eyes sunken and surrounded by dark circles. Her desperation to harness her power was all but consuming her, and he worried that—had he not been there—she would have allowed herself to be overwhelmed by the desire to learn. Her determination was enviable, if sometimes dangerous when left unchecked.

Ser Pounce-a-lot squirmed free from Alistair's arms before he jumped to the ground, trotting lazily to rub against her legs. It was then that the man noticed the singed hem of her robes, torn to just below her knees. "Maker, Arais. What happened with Avernus?"

She looked down at her robes and shrugged. "The usual, except we decided to try using fireballs today, since I've mastered healing energy, and have been making progress with spirit energy and primal spells. Turns out elemental spells are significantly more difficult to control. In retrospect, it probably would have been safer to use ice instead of fire, but there's no sense dwelling on it."

"How much of that healing energy did you have to use on your poor legs?" he asked, closing the gap between them until he could take her hand and squeeze it firmly.

"A little," she said without meeting his eyes. She sighed, then, "Alright, a lot. The burns were severe, and I needed health poultices to help the healing along, otherwise I would have ended up with scars. My stomach still doesn't feel right after mixing elfroot with the amount of lyrium I needed to support my spells."

"You should get some rest. And, for the love of all that is good in Thedas, take a bloody day off. You're working yourself too hard, and I barely see you anymore." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead lightly before bending over to lift her into his arms. "Now, let's get you to bed, shall we?"

She smiled and kissed him softly. "As you wish, my love."

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><p><strong>Okay, I feel much better about the last chapter now that this one is written. I'm still giggling hysterically after writing Ser Pounce-a-lot. I love cats.<strong>

**Thanks to twixtnightandmorn for her help, again.**


	23. Chapter 23: Support

_They say the mabari is clever enough to speak, and wise enough to know not to. Tell me, my friend, does this saying apply to you? Are you capable of speech, and simply choose not to speak?_

_(He wags his tail)_

_Hmm... sometimes I think the world would be a much friendlier place if we could learn some things from animals. Nothing in the animal kingdom can match the worst qualities of humanity._

_- Wynne and Dog_

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><p>The click of her heels echoed in the entrance hall as Gwyneth crossed the threshold into her estate, the leather straps continuing to pinch the skin on her ankles. As soon as the door closed behind her, she quickly removed the shoes, berating herself once again for involving herself with the Qunari. The number of noble parties she was now invited to was astounding, and she was tempted to begin declining them all—especially if she had to continue attending them alone.<p>

Aveline was off on her honeymoon in Orlais, and, in her rag-tag group of companions, only Sebastian remained as suitable company to a Hightown affair. Gwyneth didn't hate the man by any means, but he irked her. She could see right through his Andrastian façade to the little man-whore that he truly was: the fact that he held up the act and consistently denied his true nature was pathetic, and she avoided him as much as possible.

As she entered the main room, Dexter came bounding up to her, whole backside wagging emphatically with the joy of seeing his mistress. He hoisted himself onto his hind legs and placed his massive paws on her shoulders, and she cried out in surprise as he began bathing her in slobbery kisses. Gwyneth pushed his chest gently to signal that he needed to get down, and as he went one of his claws caught in her gown, tearing a jagged hole next to her left breast.

Sighing, she said, "If Mother were here, she'd be scolding you something awful." A dull pain was momentarily revived, but she quelled it immediately. "It's okay, though, boy. I have no desire to go to another one of Lady Arenberg's soirees. She's a capable hostess, but she and her husband have no sense of when it's appropriate to close the blinds."

He whined in agreement, his tail wagging back and forth in slow motion. Gwyneth was about to speak again when she noticed two new letters on her writing desk. She walked to the table and picked up the folded papers, noting that only one was addressed to her—the other, though attached to the addressed one, was blank. Breaking the seal of the labeled one, she scrambled to catch the second sheet of paper that began fluttering to the ground before she read the message.

_Gwyneth,  
>I'm so sorry to hear about Leandra. I may not have known her very well, but she seemed like a wonderful woman, and I feel her loss as if I had known her my whole life. Growing up in the Ferelden Circle didn't leave me with any family aside from the other mages and a few of the kinder Templars, so to lose a blood relative so soon after meeting her feels more significant, in some way.<br>It turns out that Avernus had more than a little experience with my unique abilities as a mage. It's his training that has kept me from responding to your letter before these three months have passed (longer, I fear, since the blizzards of Soldier's Peak have held the post for weeks at a time). I haven't sustained many serious injuries, though a courier has been sent to Denerim on multiple occasions to retrieve robes to replace the ones I have charred or torn beyond repair.  
>I am glad to hear that the Qunari were dealt with, though under such regretful circumstances. I heard that, aside from the Chantry's involvement, the theft of one of their relics was the reason for their invasion. Who would be thick enough to steal from the Qunari is beyond even me, and I traveled with a bard, an apostate, and an Antivan Crow.<br>I should end this letter now, lest I write a tome and drive Alistair mad with my delay. I've nearly completed my training, so we will be setting off for Redcliffe castle in one month's time. Direct any letters you write there, otherwise Levi is going to have to deal with one cranky Avernus.  
>All my love, Arais<br>PS: I've attached a letter that I needed delivered to Anders, but couldn't address to him directly due to his circumstances. I apologize for the inconvenience, Cousin, and promise to make it up to you when I return to Kirkwall._

Gwyneth looked over to her Mabari, who cocked his head inquiringly. "I should have known when I picked up a rogue Grey Warden apostate, I'd end up his personal messenger. I'm just surprised it took almost four years to happen." She climbed the stairs and entered her bedchamber, vaguely aware that she had left her shoes in the hall but too exhausted to go back for them. Shucking her torn gown, Gwyneth crawled under the blankets, curling her arm under the pillow and burying her face in it, drifting to sleep almost immediately as the weight of Dexter's head rested on her thigh.

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><p>Anders climbed over the small boulders that lay in the entrance to his clinic's back rooms, a simple trick to keep people from thinking he actually used them. Lately, he'd been finding them useful when one of his patients came in, warning him that the Templars were searching Darktown. How the refugees that called this hole in the ground home were able to keep the clinic's location completely hidden for four years was incredible, even to the man who escaped the Ferelden Circle and the Grey Wardens.<p>

Turning to the door when he sensed a presence outside, he relaxed his defensive stance when Hawke walked through the door. She had been traveling alone frequently since the Qunari invasion, spending little time out of her estate unless forced into one of the noble events that seemed to pop up lately. Anders was grateful to see she had arrived there relatively unscathed, only a small scratch on her cheek marking her journey from Hightown.

"Arais attached this to a message I received last night. She asked me to bring it to you. I can't stay, though. I brought my only gown to the tailor because my damned Mabari decided to play 'hug the human' when I came home from a party the other night. Tore it right down here," she said, her lips beginning to tremble, and gestured to just below her underarm and next to her left breast with a half-assed attempt at a smile. She lifted her hand to cover her eyes, the deep breath she attempted to take in broken up by the shudder of her shoulders.

After a brief hesitation, Anders took the letter from the hand by her side and tossed it on the desk, wrapping Gwyneth in his arms as she began to cry mercilessly. He wondered fleetingly how often she broke down like this, and how often that… monster was there for her. Banishing the thought of her elven lover from his thoughts, he stroked her hair, loosed from its typical ponytail at the nape of her neck. His brotherly affection for the woman he held was not unlike his relationship with Arais, he noticed.

A quarter of an hour passed before Hawke began to steady, her breathing evening out gradually. Half an hour had her stepping back, her eyes swollen and red, but looking otherwise like her normal self. She gave Anders a half smile, grabbing his hand and squeezing it in a silent gesture of gratitude. The expression on her face told him that she would be fine, so when she turned to leave, he didn't stop her. He trusted her, even if some of her actions were questionable: he wasn't exactly Ser Brilliance when it came to making difficult decisions, either.

A thought occurred to him, and he hurried after her, grasping her arm gently to turn her back to him. "I know you won't listen to me if I ask you to bring anyone else, but from now on, will you at least bring Dexter when you come to the clinic? I may not be a dog person, but I give credit where it's due, and I trust your Mabari more than any of our other companions."

She nodded in agreement, smiling at his admission before she turned and left, closing the door behind her. With the clinic empty once more, Anders walked over to his desk to open the letter Hawke had just delivered.

_Anders,  
>As luck would have it, Avernus had more experience with <em>Mensana _than I could have dreamed. According to him, another Warden he had met years ago had the same abilities I do, and she allowed him to study her. He still had the journal he had taken the notes in, and I've been reading that, along with daily training sessions. I've nearly mastered each school of magic, but elemental has been difficult. I suppose I'm so used to casting those without concentrating, that being forced to focus again is going to take some time. Though I'm not sure how much more I will be able to heal before I begin forming scars from the burns. Be thankful you don't have these abilities, Anders. This training is truly more brutal than anything you can imagine from the Circle, even in Kirkwall.  
>I can never thank you enough for all your help uncovering the truth behind what was happening to me.<br>Arais_

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><p><strong>Hey, guys. Sorry for the huge delay on this chapter. Between my birthday on Monday and a bunch of other shit going on, I'm just frazzled and finding the ability to put words to my ideas decidedly difficult to remember. It's annoying, but at least I have twixtnightandmorn to keep me motivated with all the motivationals and screen shots she's been sending me of Fenris. Thank the Maker for that, I suppose. Anyway, hope everyone is enjoying the story so far. Hopefully the next few chapters will bring us into Act III. Thanks for reading, and to all those who have been reviewing. You make my day!<strong>


	24. Chapter 24: Journey

_Darkspawn! Is this the only thing men think about these days? What about the good old obsessions? Breasts, firm buttocks, wet frocks?_

_Mmm... wet frocks._

_- Isabela and Alistair_

* * *

><p>Eamon placed a hand on Alistair's shoulder before leaving the room, aware that his presence was only exacerbating the situation. The man meant well, but it just wasn't in Alistair's power to be reasonable at that particular moment. For more than twenty years he had been led to believe he was just like every other bastard, aside from the royal part. Now his entire life was flipped on its ass, leaving him disoriented and unsure what to do next.<p>

"We could go to Weisshaupt," Arais said from beside him, reading his thoughts as always. One small hand rested on the small of his back while the other held his own, gently stroking his skin with the pad of her thumb. "I know it's a long shot, but Eamon did say there was something different about your mother. That she may not have had to go through the Calling. She could still be alive."

He shook his head. "It's impossible. Duncan knew her and who she was. Their Joinings were only six months apart. I told you Duncan was… There's never been a Grey Warden who _hasn't_ gone through the Calling. I'd be a fool to hope that my mother was any different."

"Even so…" She released his hand to place hers on his cheek, gently turning him to face her. "I'll be there with you, good news or bad. And I doubt anything could be worse than your wretch of a faux half-sister."

"You have a point," he conceded, letting a half smile creep onto his lips before a frown settled in again. "Fine, fine, we'll go to Weisshaupt. If anything, the months it takes us to get there will give me a chance to prepare myself for whatever comes of it." He paused before asking, "Still no word from Gwyneth?"

"No, but I'm not worried. Knowing what that woman gets herself into, I can't imagine she has much time to write letters. I'll send another letter to Kirkwall before we leave Redcliffe to let her know where we'll be going, and have letters she may have already sent here forwarded to Weisshaupt."

He kissed her forehead lightly, giving her a small smile. "See, you always have everything all planned out. This is why you lead, and I follow: always."

* * *

><p>"I don't like the look of those," Alistair said with a frown. Arais looked to the eastern sky, where he had indicated a dark mass of clouds moving toward them. Judging by the speed of their approach, she guessed they had maybe three quarters of an hour to set up camp.<p>

Arais watched as Alistair set down his pack and began removing the necessary supplies to pitch their tent. Sweat glistened on his forehead from the unseasonably warm weather, and she could feel the perspiration of her own body creating a fine layer of moisture on her dark skin. Her robes didn't breathe—only made worse by the simple shift she wore beneath them—leaving her to suffer in the humidity caused by the impending rainstorm.

After a quarter of an hour, she could no longer stand idle while her robes began to suffocate her, and she walked up beside Alistair to place a hand on his shoulder. "I'm going down to the lake to wash up. I shouldn't be very long."

"Alright," he said absently, clearly absorbed by his task. The set-up seemed nearly finished, but Alistair always focused so intently that Morrigan had teased him for making such a chore out of a relatively simple task.

Carefully making her way down the incline that led to the shore of Lake Calenhad, Arais looked around for a secluded area to bath in. She slipped off her light boots, the lyrium infused within the leather tingling against her skin. While she was bent over, she noticed a significant tear in the skirt of her robes, near the knee, and she groaned in frustration. She wondered if she would ever be able to go more than a few months without ruining a set of robes as she ripped her robes until the hem was just above her knees, tossing the extra fabric in a heap by her boots.

She approached where the lake lapped at the shore, the rocky soil digging into the soles of her feet as she dipped them in the cool shallows. Looking out across the gently rippling water, the wind picked up wisps of her dark brown hair and tangled them in swirling tendrils. Arais unfastened her robes and lifted them above her head, leaving her in only her shift. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, tickling the skin there, and she tossed her clothing near the rest of her things.

Wading through the water with shuffling steps, Arais was thigh deep when she stepped into nothing, and she cried out in surprise before she was completely submerged, her shift billowing up in a cloud around her chest. After the brief moment it took for her to recover from the shock, she carved her arms through the water, pushing herself to the surface. She tread water for a few moments, grateful that she had accepted Anders' offer to teach her to swim when they were in Amaranthine together.

When she spotted a large boulder jutting out of the water about six feet from shore, she swam over to it. She found that the water became gradually shallower, and as she approached the east side of the rock facing the shore, she was only hip deep. The light material of her underclothes formed to her breasts and stomach like a second skin, while it brushed gently against her legs as the water moved with the increasing wind.

She was uncertain how long she stood there—lightly skimming her hands over the surface of the water—before a hand rested on her arm, breaking her from her reverie. Alistair looked down at her with the first genuine smile she had seen from him since Redcliffe. He lifted a hand to push a stray lock of wet hair from her eye, tucking it gently behind her ear.

Pushing away from the boulder, Arais closed the small space he'd left between them, their lips meeting firmly. She tangled her fingers in his hair as she led him around the rock to where the water reached her waist. After a moment, she smiled against his mouth and gave him a rough shove. He flailed helplessly a bit before falling backward into the water with a loud splash.

She was giggling wildly as he regained his footing; glaring at her once he was standing upright. "That was _not_ funny, Arais," he said, his eyes narrowing further when she continued to laugh. Rather than speak, he moved through the water to her quickly, not giving her time to react before lifting her by the waist and tossing her into deeper water.

Arais yelped as she flew through the air and back into the water, popping her head above the surface almost immediately. Clearing the water from her eyes, she attempted to give Alistair her iciest glare, faltering only slightly when she saw him nearly doubled over in laughter, looking quite happy with himself. She swam until she was able to walk and then waded over to him slowly.

His eyes focused on her as he leaned against the side of the boulder that looked out over Lake Calenhad, the surface of the water reaching just under his chest. "Not so funny now, is it, love?"

"I suppose not," she replied, now standing directly in front of him. Alistair looked up at the sky, and when Arais went to do the same, a drop of moisture landed on her cheek Dozens more followed in quick succession: soon enough, rain was falling in sheets from the overcast skies. The ripples cascaded across the water, small waves being formed by the wind.

Suddenly, a decent sized swell knocked Arais forward into Alistair. She laughed, the sound barely audible over the splashing of the rain and the soft whistle of the wind blowing through the trees. Looking up into the eyes of the man now holding her steady against him, she felt a wave of heat penetrate the chill caused by the storm-swirled air on the little skin exposed over the chest deep water.

Their lips met ardently, the curls repeatedly forcing their bodies together, then apart, in a frustrating rhythm. Arais, losing her patience, hopped up and wrapped her legs about his waist as she floated, nearly weightless just below the surface. Her hands clutched his shoulders for balance, his grasping her backside gently.

She reached between them with one hand, finding him decidedly ready for her, and Arais grinned—almost catlike—as she removed her hand. She released her grip on his other shoulder, grasping the hem of her shift to lift it over her head, but forced to let go when Alistair grabbed her wrists.

"No, leave it," he said, smiling wickedly at her. She lifted an eyebrow momentarily, forced to lower it as she rapidly blinked water out of her eyes. "Remember when we met Isabela?"

As the memory came to her, she said, "You weren't kidding?"

He latched his lips to hers in response, moving one hand from her backside to grasp her breast, squeezing gently as he guided her to him with his other hand. Arais cried out as he entered her, and the rain seemed to pick up at the sound, as did Alistair's urgency. He moved as unrelentingly as the water would allow.

Her arms wrapped around his neck as she held herself to him, refusing to let her buoyancy separate them now. She began to match his thrusts, angling her hips to add to the friction. The sensation drove her wild, and it didn't take long for her arms to tighten around him in a brutal grip, her body convulsing with her climax. Alistair breathed her name into her ear as he shuddered, going limp with his own release. Arais nibbled gently on the skin at the base of his throat, the rain still turbulent in its intensity.

After a few moments simply floating in the water, holding each other, Alistair's chest rumbled with a low laugh. Arais lifted her head just a little to ask, "What is it?"

"We are never going to get dry."

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><p><strong>Oye! That took way too freaking long to write! Now to go prank the neighborhood with my anti-rapture trolliness! Hope y'all enjoyed, and thanks to twixtnightandmorn for being there for me through this whole, painful writing process.<strong>


	25. Chapter 25: Observed

_Go hump your horse. - Fiona_

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><p><em>Putting all his strength into the swing of his greatsword, the elf felt little resistance as it sliced its way through his opponent. He had been fighting like this for months, trying to prove his worth. If he was going to free his mother and sister, he needed to be the best. Danarius would take no less.<em>

_This was the final stage of the proving the magister had planned, and as his last opponent approached, the elf took a deep breath to regain his strength, exhaling slowly as he repositioned his grip on his sword. He angled his blade to block his opponent's first attack, pushing the other elf back roughly. The attacker let out a desperate cry, charging forward and ducking behind his shield at the last moment._

_The silverite shield shoved the broad side of his greatsword into his chest, and he struggled to free it, slicing into his own flesh as he did. His challenger stepped back and swung his longsword in a wide arc. A quick leap back saved him from another wound, and he hit back with staggering force. He struck out with the pommel of his sword, stunning his opponent. One last swing of his blade, and the other elf's head was cleaved from his shoulders._

_Applause from a single person sounded from behind him, and he whirled on his heel to see the magister approaching, lowering his hands to his side. "Very impressive, boy. You will be very useful, indeed."_

"_And my mother and sister? They will be freed?"_

"_Yes, of course. That was the agreement, if you survived. I have already sent Hadriana to inform them of the good news." The magister smiled, more pleased with himself than anything. "Now, we've much to do to prepare for the ritual I told you about. Come along…"_

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><p>Movement beside her roused Gwyneth from a restless sleep: filled with nightmares she could no longer remember, but still left her tired and irritable every morning. She felt the bed rise significantly as Dexter leapt to the ground. He only left her side these past two years for one reason, and that was if Fenris was there to take his place.<p>

"Another nightmare?" she asked groggily, causing her words to slur a little.

"No," he replied, climbing into bed with her. "Another memory, though I'm not entirely sure what it meant."

She turned on her side and draped her arm across his chest, nuzzling into him instinctively. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly. I'm still trying to understand it myself." His hand stroked her upper arm gently. "Some other time, perhaps."

Nodding, she kissed his chest before closing her eyes once more, fending off the thoughts that were threatening to keep her awake. Before they were able to get a foothold in her conscious, she drifted back to sleep, her mind blessedly blank.

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><p>"How are you doing?" Arais asked.<p>

"I'm fine," Alistair replied, looking over to her and giving her a brief smile, before a grave expression returned to his features. "So… here we are: Weisshaupt Fortress."

"It's different than I thought it would be. Then again, the only other time I had seen it was because of that bloody sloth demon at the Circle of Magi." She paused, and he saw her flinch at the memory. "We should probably see the First Warden. He'd know for certain if your mother is here."

Alistair looked down at the stone floor of the courtyard, doubt beginning to settle in the pit of his stomach. "I think I'll wait out here. I'm still not entirely prepared for what he might have to say about my mother's fate, and I'd rather here it from you."

"If that's what you really want." She started toward the archway that led to a towering set of double doors, carved from the same stone as the rest of the imposing Grey Warden base. Turning back momentarily, she added, "I'll be as brief as possible. Though Maker only knows how many guards will need to see proof of my identity before I actually get to the First Warden."

He chuckled nervously as he watched her disappear through the colossal doors, her small body barely matching a quarter of the height. Alistair could sense the few Wardens that were lingering in the courtyard eyeing him, and he forced himself to keep his eyes straight ahead. A marble bench was positioned just to the left of where he was standing, so he sat and waited, his eyes eventually wandering despite his best efforts. Weisshaupt's courtyard was larger than any he had ever seen, areas of it cordoned off by physical or magical barriers as Wardens of all classes trained in their particular talents.

His attention was drawn to one of the magical barriers as it collapsed, the elven woman who seemed to have been casting it approaching one of the younger mages with a stern expression. The man had clearly singed himself somehow: though, knowing the Warden's standards for recruitment, Alistair couldn't imagine how it could have happened.

"Mikhail," she started, her hands hovering over the burns as they began to glow blue with healing energy, "if you want to learn how to perform elemental magic in combat, you must first learn to be able to control it. Your entropy spells caused far less physical damage to you when they backfired during your training at the Circle because they're focused mainly on the mind of your enemy, not the body. Unless you wish to be burned to a crisp, you must concentrate. Now, try again."

Mikhail summoned a small ball of fire into the palm of his hand as the elder mage surrounded them with a protective field. The woman didn't seem too worried about being harmed herself, and Alistair could only assume it was because of her abilities as a healer—or, more likely, she was stark raving mad.

For over a quarter of an hour, the young mage held the same ball of fire in his hand, his eyes narrowing and brow furrowing with concentration as it grew in size until it was roughly the same size as his head. After a few moments, the flames began to glow white hot, and sweat trickled down the boy's forehead as he seemed to grow more nervous.

"Relax, Mikhail. Concentrate on the heat. Try to lower it until it's a faint orange." After a deep breath, the flames began to change color, and gradually they became the color he had been ordered to turn them. "Very good. Now put out the fireball without casting it. And this time, try not to burn yourself."

Alistair stifled a laugh as the young mage began to concentrate once more, oblivious to his mentor's teasing. The ball of fire decreased rapidly in size, and in only a matter of minutes, they were entirely extinguished. A smile of pure self-satisfaction spread across Mikhail's face as the woman lowered the shield, her expression decidedly less placated.

"You've made excellent progress today, dear, but you have a long way to go before it will be safe for you to perform these spells in battle. If you choose to practice, trying working with ice instead of fire. The last thing we need is to have to rebuild the training hall because one of my students burned it down."

A soft laugh escaped Alistair, and he covered his mouth so as not to be heard. Any mirth he'd had left to control was eradicated when the young mage bid farewell to his mentor by name: Fiona.

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><p><strong>Sorry it's taking me so long to update. Between a whole mess of shit I'm finding it difficult to just sit down and write. But I'm not abandoning the story so just bear with me. Also, normally I'd have read through to weed out they typos, but I'm really sick and I just don't have the mental capacity to do it right now. I'll probably try to sleep right now, then edit it in the morning. But I didn't want to make you guys wait any longer. Thanks for putting up with it if you did. <strong>

**Thanks to twixtnightandmorn for helping me out with Fiona.**


	26. Chapter 26: Lamenting

_I like big boats, I cannot lie. - Isabela_

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><p>"I can't believe you're here," Fiona said in a near whisper, her eyes wide with disbelief. This was her son: the one she had told Maric to hide her identity from all those years ago. "You look so… human. I can hardly…" she trailed off, unable to complete the sentence.<p>

"Nobody ever suspected it, nor did they have reason to. Like you said, I look entirely human. The only reason this was discovered was because a Dalish Keeper sensed it in about me." Alistair smiled down at her, and if there was any doubt in her mind that this was truly Maric's boy, it was cast out by that grin. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I just… I see so much of your father in you. It's almost unsettling." She noticed his attention drawn toward the entrance to the fortress, and she followed his gaze to a young woman descending the stares. Her long brown hair was gently flowing behind her, and she carried herself with the confidence of a woman who had accomplished much. The look in Alistair's eyes as he stared at her brought a smile to Fiona's lips. "She's beautiful."

He nodded his agreement, enraptured as the woman approached them. She hesitated briefly as her eyes fixed on the elven woman, but her stride picked up again immediately and kept until she was standing before them. Her striking gray eyes peered from below wispy bangs—a gaze that was both wise beyond her years and eager to learn more.

"Sorry for taking so long, Alistair. The guards had a hard time believing that the Commander of the Ferelden Wardens would come here for something personal in the midst of rebuilding. They almost didn't admit me." She turned her attention to Fiona. "I apologize. I am Arais."

"Fiona. A pleasure." The wide-eyed look she received at the mention of her name was mildly amusing. "I take it you know who I am?"

"I do. It appears my audience with the First Warden was unnecessary, as you've already found each other on your own." Arais looked away, her expression bleeding indecision. "I understand if you choose not to answer this, but I'm curious: Why is it you haven't felt the Calling?"

Sighing, Fiona focused on the young mage before her. "It's complicated—very much so, in fact. I've never really been asked to explain it before, so bear with me if it makes little sense." She took a deep breath, separating the important information quickly in her head. "There are many forms of rare magic that have slowly been disappearing throughout the generations of mages.

"_Somniari_ are dreamers, mages who have a stronger connection to the Fade, and are able to manipulate it to their will. _Lamentari _are hearers of the soul, capable of—for lack of a better word—_hearing _emotions deeply connected to the soul, sometimes to almost a painful degree. What I am is just as rare, if not rarer than even those."

"_Mensana_?" Arais asked in a whisper.

"The ones who can heal the mind, as well as the body," Fiona confirmed, staring at the younger mage in shock. "How did you know that?"

Without speaking, Arais closed her eyes, her brows furrowing slightly. When the elven woman was sure she'd get no response from the girl, Alistair seemed to go stiff, almost as if he had been petrified, before relaxing and standing from the stone bench. A moment later he took an offensive stance, extending his hand as a bolt of spirit energy shot from it and across the courtyard.

His expression changed from one of blank concentration to surprise as he whirled on Arais. "Bloody flames, couldn't you have warned me before you did that?"

"Sorry." She looked sheepish as she turned away from Alistair to face Fiona. "I found out I had these abilities in Kirkwall over two years ago. An accidental transferal of power into an elf that hates mages makes for an interesting set of circumstances."

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><p>"Mm…" Isabela sighed, rolling over on the bed to face her companion. Even in sleep, the young elf was frowning. She still dreamt of her clan, and the regret she refused to own up to for leaving. Merrill spoke often of the clansmen she lost to the eluvian, and Isabela worried that it was her involvement with Mahariel that forced her to work on that blasted mirror.<p>

An unfamiliar emotion called softly to Isabela from her subconscious, and the pirate wasn't eager to identify it. A soft whimper escaped her lover's lips, and Isabela gently pulled her into a protective embrace. For three years this had been a normal occurrence, having Merrill come by the Hanged Man and spend her nights with Isabela.

Thinking back to the Qunari invasion, the pirate felt the burden of guilt settle in her chest. She had left Hawke, Fenris and Merrill to the wolves when she took the relic from Wall-Eyed Sam, and the hardest part of remembering that night was that she had nearly lost the girl sleeping peacefully in her arms to her own selfish stupidity.

Kissing the elf's temple, she settled back on the bed comfortably, the pull of sleep returning with a warm welcome. Isabela knew this is where she belonged, and it was why she returned. The urge to settle down was something she had avoided for years, but now she wanted it more than ever.

She just had to deal with Castillon first.

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><p>Gwyneth sat at her writing desk, her neck sore from all the letters she had to write. She'd denied so many invitations lately with the same excuse: the Champion's duties were never done. However, many of the nobles were becoming aware that she was simply avoiding them. How could they blame her when she had never been meant for the proper behavior that was expected of a Kirkwall noble. She was a Fereldan, tried and true, and there was no way she'd give in to the nobility.<p>

Unable to work past the cramping in her hand any longer, she replaced the cap on the inkwell and set her quill aside, promising herself that she would return to it when as soon as her schedule allowed. When she stood and turned to head up the stairs, she caught a glimpse of a someone entering the main hall out of the corner of her eye.

Turning to her unexpected visitor, she grinned when she saw Arais walking toward her. "I half expected you not to be home, considering all the whispering I've heard about the Champion of Kirkwall on my way over here."

"it's good to see you, Cousin." She looked behind Arais, expecting her better half to come walking through the doorway. "Where's Alistair?"

"He's at the Hanged Man. He needed some rest after our journey. Finding out his mother was still alive was a lot for him to absorb. Most Grey Wardens don't live as long as she has, and it turns out I'm going to live just as long. My unique magic is something I share with her."

Gwyneth's eyes widened. "His mother is _Mensana_?" Arais nodded. "Well, shit. That must have been quite the discovery."

"I think Alistair was the most affected by it. I demonstrated my abilities through him, without warning him. He was a little irked."

"I can imagine," Gwyneth laughed. "Well, I'm glad to have you back in Kirkwall. Perhaps you can help me deal with some of these nobles. If I have to suffer one more of these bloody affairs by myself, I may demand Varric put a bolt through my head and end it." She smiled mischievously at Arais. "Besides, having the Warden Commander—a mage no less—accompany me may cause enough scandal that they'll never invite me to another party again."

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><p><strong>Alright, since a lot of things in my life have gone backasswards lately, I may be slow to update. But I do know how the story is going to end now, so there's a higher likelihood that chapters will at least come to me semi-frequently. Thanks to twixtnightandmorn for betaing this chapter for me, since I have a low grade fever and couldn't do it myself. -.-<strong>


	27. Chapter 27: Avenged

_Isn't perspective wonderful? You'd think people who are so tall would have more of it. - Sigrun_

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><p>The anger he felt as the magister approached, preaching that Varania wasn't to blame for her betrayal sent Fenris into a spiral, his hatred overwhelming. "I earned these markings, yours and Mother's freedom, only to have you put mine in jeopardy so <em>you <em>could become a magister?"

"You should be proud of your sister, Fenris," Danarius reprimanded, and his markings began to burn as the blue glow that defined his rage began to pulsate. "She's going to make a fine magister. Perhaps you'll belong to her one day."

"Fenris doesn't belong to anyone," Hawke said, a soft growl making the words vibrate in her throat. "This ends here."

An arrow whistled past Fenris mere inches from his head, and he resisted the urge to turn and glare at Sebastian. The tip lodged in the eye socket of one of Danarius' guards, felling him instantly. Letting out a blast of lyrium energy, Fenris cried out, his rage only growing when Danarius fled up the stairs, surrounding himself in a protective force field at the landing.

"Gwyneth," Arais shouted over the chaos of battle. "Ready yourself!"

The rogue straightened as she ran around Fenris to stand in front of him, her muscles stiffening when blasts of physical energy rippled violently from her, throwing the group of slavers surrounding her back several feet. Hawke stretched out her hand and summoned a ball of fire, casting it into the bulk of their attackers. Her muscles relaxed and her eyes refocused, now seeing rather than just looking. She buried a blade in the neck of a slaver that tried to flank her, and sank the other up through his chest.

Refocusing, Fenris scythed his blade in a wide arc, sending a half dozen of his attackers flying back, a majority of them in multiple pieces. He noticed that the force field around Danarius had dropped, and he focused his attention solely on the magister. He rushed forward, his blade barely tearing the man's robes before he vanished before him. Frustration boiled his blood as he looked around the room, searching for his target.

Locating in the corner by the entrance to the tavern, Fenris saw a prison of spirit energy envelop the magister, crushing the life from him slowly. Taking it as an opportunity to further disable Danarius, Fenris bolted forward, striking out with the pommel of his greatsword, striking his former master directly between the eyes.

As the man's eyes reopened after a moment of unconsciousness, Fenris lifted him by the collar of his robes with his left hand, growling in his face, "You are no longer my master," before drawing his hand back. He thrust it forward and buried it in Danarius' chest, gripping his heart and crushing it until it burst. Without hesitation, he turned on his sister, his fury unrelenting. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't deliver you the same fate."

"I didn't have a choice, Leto," she said in a soft, pained voice.

"Stop calling me that. And you did have a choice. You put your selfish desire for power before your own brother. You deserve no better than the magister who enslaved us: that I sacrificed everything to free you from." He stepped forward, his markings beginning to glow once more as he reached back his hand.

"No," she pleaded, her eyes betraying only fear.

Without mercy, he repeated the punishment he had given to Danarius, ignoring the pain his sister's eyes held before they glazed over in death. A hand rested on his shoulder, and he resisted his instinctive reaction to shrug it off. He knew it was Hawke, and she only wished to help.

"What you said about your markings, about how you wanted them… was that what you remembered a year ago?" He nodded, unable to find the words to explain why he hadn't said anything as he looked at her. "I think I understand why you couldn't tell me."

Her hand fell from his shoulder as she turned to face the gore resulting from the battle, the tavern keeper barking at his underlings to begin cleaning up. His face was crimson with fury, though his eyes held the resignation that these occurrences came with owning a tavern in Lowtown. The small amount of guilt Fenris felt for causing the man grief was almost enough to persuade him to help with the mess, but as his gaze drifted to Danarius' corpse—face frozen in stunned disbelief—he realized he couldn't remain there any longer, and hurried out of the Hanged Man.

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><p>How she had convinced herself that the tavern would be a nice place for her and Alistair to have a quiet dinner was anybody's guess. Arais was wiping the evidence of how wrong she'd been from the bladed end of her staff when she caught a glimpse of Isabela running down the stairs, followed closely by Merrill and Varric.<p>

"What in blazes happened here?" came a voice from the entrance of the tavern, and Arais turned to see a woman, a braided leather band holding the bronze hair out of her face. She wasn't typically beautiful, but the strong line of her jaw and her well-defined, thin mouth—pulled down in a disapproving frown—gave her the air of a classic beauty.

"Hello, Aveline. We met Fenris' sister, and she introduced us to Danarius," Gwyneth said in reply, wiping the last traces of blood from her blades. She looked around purposefully, her face falling as she turned a full circle and didn't seem to find what she was looking for. "Where _is_ Fenris?"

"If I could hazard a guess?" Anders started, drawing everyone else's attention to him. "He's probably at the mansion he commandeered from that man lying crumpled over there." He mumbled something about hypocrites as his hand fell from its gesture to Danarius, then went back to cleansing himself of the gore. Gwyneth bid them a quick farewell before she exited the Hanged Man, no doubt in search of her elven lover.

Varric let out an impressed whistle at the carnage as he stepped delicately—as delicately as a dwarf could, anyhow—over one of the many bodies strewn about the dirty wooden floor. The blood had already begun to congeal, but some had made its way into the gaps between the plank, and Arais was sure it would stain. She did not envy the two barmaids their task of wiping up the blood: it wasn't long before she had taken up a scouring brush and began to scrub as well.

Eventually, Merrill and Isabela joined her in cleaning the blood, while Alistair, Anders, Aveline, and a man—whom Arais hadn't recognized when Gwyneth had arrived with her party—began helping the barmen with the body disposal. Varric spoke animatedly with the owner of the tavern, clearly trying to assuage him. The blood had mostly drained from his face, leaving him at a healthy, pink shade, but the irritation at his bar being nearly destroyed once again still lingered in his light brown eyes.

Assessing the state of the main room once more, Arais noticed that even though most of the bodies had been cleared out, blood still painted the floor in splotches of crimson and dark brown. She realized this would take longer than she'd anticipated, and sincerely hoped the men clearing the bodies would be willing to help them when they were finished.

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><p>"Festis bei umo canavorum," Fenris growled, taking a step toward Gwyneth as he stopped pacing, more on edge than usual.<p>

"Am I supposed to know what that means?" she asked, her tone a little playful, contradicting the worry she felt. She had very nearly overreacted, and had Anders not been there to offer his sarcastic advice, Gwyneth likely wouldn't have thought of it herself, her mind had been in such disarray.

"It means, 'You will be the death of me.'" He took only a single step toward her, seemingly stopping himself from getting any closer. He moved his hands as he spoke, further evidence of his agitation. "Six years ago I stayed with you, in part because I owed you. But I also thought you could help me. And you did. Hadriana is dead. Danarius is dead. I am finally free. But none of it feels as it should. This freedom tastes like ashes."

She sighed, unsure how to console him. "You were already free, Fenris. Killing Danarius was just revenge."

"Ah, yes, platitudes are so easy," he barked, his face immediately contorting with regret as he let out a frustrated sigh. "You are not responsible for my misery. Why am I angry at you?" He sat on the bench opposite her, and she fought back a sense of déjà vu. "I thought finding Varania would open up a new world, one that was lost forever."

"It's not lost, Fenris. You don't need Varania to help you remember. Your own memories are returning slowly, and Arais agreed to help further heal your mind without healing the markings."

"I suppose you're right." He stood and walked over to her, gently placing a gauntleted hand on her cheek. "I apologize for not telling you what I remembered of my markings. It was foolish to worry that you would see me differently, had I received them willingly or not."

She lifted a hand to hold his, giving him a small smile. "I understand. I'm glad you at least realize you could have told me. You can tell me anything, _dulcis_." His eyes widened at her use of his native tongue, and she giggled softly. "I haven't learned much, as I've just started my lessons, but I want to be able to understand you when you get upset in the future."

Leaning forward suddenly, he breathed into her ear, "If there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly at your side."

She rose from the bench, her lips meeting his before she was fully upright. His hand cupped her neck, fingers toying delicately with her hair, cropped short after an unfortunate accident involving a fireball and a certain _Mensana_. Butterflies fluttered in her belly, and her hand found the back of his head, deepening the kiss until she could hardly breathe. Moments passed before she pulled back, aching for him, but desperate to wash away the drying blood that was smeared over her bare skin.

As she took his hand and led him from the borrowed mansion, she said in a low voice, "Let's go home."

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><p><strong>Err... sorry again for the wait... situations only went from bad to worse, just got out of a poisonous relationship (if you can call it that), and it's affecting my writing. Not my ability to do it, more so the content of the chapters. I'm trying to keep it as realistic and in character as possible, and having Gwyneth castrate someone just doesn't feel... right. I promise to be as quick as possible in the future, but bear with me if the chapters aren't as good. I'll probably go back and edit them if I find I'm unhappy with them.<strong>

**Standard thanks to twixtnightandmorn, and thanks to all have reviewed/favorited/alerted so far! I always neglect you guys, and I apologize. Each of those little notifications makes my day, and I love you so much for it. It's nice to be appreciated. Hope you enjoyed!**


	28. Chapter 28: Inconceivable

_You know, mages created mabari hounds. Maybe I could make you just as smart as those stupid dogs._

_*meow!*_

_- Anders and Ser Pounce-a-lot_

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><p>"Mistress?" Orana said from the doorway, rousing Gwyneth from her memoires. The young elf's looks were much softer since she had stopped wearing the excessive cosmetics her old master had forced on her. A smattering of dark freckles had begun to show on her cheeks, and her hair had darkened to a chestnut brown, both features seemingly altered by magic that had finally begun to wear off.<p>

Gwyneth placed her quill in the inkwell, standing from her desk and turning back to Orana. The girl's face was set with its usual distrust and naiveté, only this time confusion was added to the mix. "What is it, dear?"

"There's a delivery for Mistress Amell from Redcliffe Castle. Should I send for her at the tavern?" Before she could respond, the sound of her Mabari's frantic barking drifted from the main hall into her bedchamber. The serving girl's eyes widened as she turned away, repeating, "Oh, dear," as she hurried out of the room.

"Orana!" Gwyneth cried after her, following quickly behind her and flying down the stairs. She nearly tripped over something as it whipped past her into the library, Dexter close behind. "Bloody flames, Dex, what's gotten into you?"

Looking around the room, she saw a frazzled Bodahn consoling Sandal, the boy's expression astonished at the events unfolding. Orana was on her knees by an overturned crate, cleaning up a foul looking mess that had spilled from within. A loud crash drew her attention back to the library, and Gwyneth ran across the threshold and up the stairs leading to the upper level. Dexter's rear end was sticking out from under the table that had formerly held the various spirits Aveline had brought back from her honeymoon in Orlais. The bottles were now strewn across the floor, shattered and sending the scent of alcohol wafting throughout the library, bitter and strong.

"Dexter, back off now!" she commanded, the Mabari reluctantly wriggling out from under the table in response. He turned to his mistress and sat obediently, looking up at her with eyes that conveyed his disappointment at having his fun interrupted. "Now what is all the fuss about, you crazy hound?"

He made a motion with his snout, seeming to indicate the table. With a raised eyebrow, Gwyneth ducked under the table and made a visual sweep, her gaze focusing on a mass huddled in the corner, shaking. When her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she was able to distinguish pointed ears as a head popped up, and glowing green eyes of a cat stared back at her. A soft squawk came from the darkness as the cat stood up and came over to her, surprising Gwyneth with its sudden boldness.

"Hey there, little guy." Lifting the animal in her arms gently, she gestured to Dexter with her chin and said, "Sorry about that pain in the arse, he's never met your kind up close before." Dexter let out a sad whine and tilted his head to the side, slowly approaching her and sniffing at the strange animal she held. He sat once more and simply watched, waiting for more orders from Gwyneth.

"Is everything alright?" Arais asked from the landing, drawing the attention of the cat, and it launched over her shoulders toward the new voice, clearly familiar. "What hap—Pounce!"

"Wait a minute." Gwyneth looked at the tabby as Arais caught him mid leap, scratching him behind the ears as he settled in place. "Pounce… as in Ser Pounce-a-lot… as in Anders' cat from Amaranthine?"

The mage nodded, her chin the victim of a series of rubs from the animal in question. "He was miserable at Vigil's Keep, and I decided that it would be better if I brought him to Kirkwall now that Anders seems to have settled down somewhat. I had to leave him at Redcliffe with Arl Eamon when Alistair and I had to travel to the Anderfels."

Gwyneth chuckled as Pounce began squirming in Arais' arms before jumping down and trotting over to Dexter, rubbing up against the Mabari's front legs. The hound looked horrified at first, but began to relax the more affectionate the cat became. Only then did Hawke realize that her Mabari was bleeding, three crimson lines on his snout. Apparently Anders hadn't been kidding about Ser Pounce-a-lot's battle experience.

"Cocky little blighter, just like his master. Speaking of…" Arais trailed off, drawing Gwyneth's attention away from the unlikely friends. "What do you say we reunite the two of them?"

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><p>Anders looked up when he heard the door to his clinic open and close in quick succession, raising a confused eyebrow when he turned and found himself alone still. Chalking it up to his exhausted imagination playing tricks, he went back scrubbing the examination tables, one of the tasks he'd been neglecting lately because of Justice incessantly tormenting him.<p>

A soft thud sounded from his desk, and he looked over in time to see a shadow disappear behind it, his inkwell laying precariously on the edge of the desk, papers scattered across the chair and ground surrounding it. Something was clearly in the clinic, wreaking havoc, and Anders—tossing the scouring brush back into the bucket of lukewarm water and drying his hands on his robes—was determined to find out what.

Approaching the desk, he leaned over it, finding nothing hiding behind it. He peered through narrowed eyes around the entire clinic, frustrated by his elusive adversary. Anders turned in time to see his rucksack fall to the dirt floor, the various ingredients for poultices spilling out. Vials rolled across the room in every direction, and he groaned as he began to walk over to clean it up, stopping only when he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Enough!" he shouted, lifting his hands—palms out—and setting a glyph of paralysis in front of where he predicted the offender was headed. A flash indicated that something had entered the trap, and Anders grinned triumphantly as he approached the glyph. Confusion rippled through him when he saw the cat in the center, apparently in mid run when he had triggered the trap.

Anders lifted the spell and the tabby collapsed from the frozen position, landing on his feet and turning to look up at the man responsible. The familiar green eyes glowed with intelligence, and, knowing his game was over, the cat bounded up to the mage and leapt into his arms, oblivious to the disbelief coloring his expression.

"It really is you, isn't it, Pounce?" The tabby's ears twitched at the name, confirming Anders' suspicions. "Maker, how did you get here from Amaranthine?"

"With a little help from a friend." He turned to see Arais in the doorway to the clinic, an amused smile playing at her lips. "I was wondering how that would go. Glad to see it wasn't a disappointment."

"You know he's a sneaky little bastard. He's my feline counterpart, after all." He smiled down at the tabby as Pounce nuzzled his neck. "Isn't that right, Ser Pounce-a-lot?"

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><p><strong>Sorry for the wait again, though I'm pretty sure I should just stop apologizing since this is probably going to be a regular thing, unfortunately. Hope you guys enjoyed it, and I promise I'll be done with the filler chapters soon and will start moving along with actual important plot stuff. Thanks to twixtnightandmorn for all her help again!<strong>


	29. Chapter 29: Destruction

_Enough visions. If anything in you is human... kill me now and stop this game. - Cullen_

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><p>"Are you absolutely certain you don't want me to heal the markings?" Arais asked, eyeing Fenris skeptically. Thanks to Hawke, she knew the pain caused by the tattoos in which lyrium lingered, and she was clearly baffled by his stubborn refusal to let her heal them.<p>

"I am sure, yes," was all he said in response, sighing at his inability to explain himself. Fenris had decided years ago, with Hawke, that he wouldn't have the markings healed if given the option, simply because he couldn't imagine his life without them.

As nervous anticipation bubbled in the pit of his stomach, he became aware he was still reluctant to receive treatment from a mage outside of the necessity of battle. Though Arais had proven time and again that she was a capable mage—unlike any he had ever met—his prejudice toward the entirety of her kind was smothering, making logic inconceivable.

"We should get started then. Sit still and stay calm: this won't take long." He closed his eyes, feeling the bed shift as someone sat beside him. When soft, slender fingers entwined with his own—confirming it was Hawke who had joined him on the bed—his muscles, tense with anticipation, relaxed significantly.

Arais' gentle touch caressed his temples, tracing backward slowly until her hands encircled his head in a careful hold. Energy hummed in the contact, whispers echoing in his skull as her magic mingled with the lyrium already tainting his mind. He was feeling a tranquility he'd long been deprived of, and even the thought of this ending wasn't enough to break the spell weaving around him.

In an instant, all peace vanished as his head began to burn from the inside. Fenris tightened his grasp on Hawke's hand as the pain overwhelmed him, and images flickered before him in waves. He was hard pressed to make out a single one, until a familiar pale face with wide, green eyes lingered before him, disappearing in a white flare as the agony increased. Arais applied more pressure with her hands, and his ears began to buzz deafeningly. Her grip became almost excruciatingly tight, her palms hot against his temples as the pain transferred into her.

As the pain dissipated completely, he opened his eyes tentatively, but even the light from the fire was too bright. He squeezed them shut once more, though before he could begin an attempt at adjusting to the sensitivity, a wave of memories crashed into his conscious mind, the levy to his damaged subconscious crumbling.

XXxxxXX

A soft rapping at the door pulled Merrill from her thoughts as she stared at the eluvian. Part of her had known the arulin'holm wouldn't work, but she had ignored it in her desperation to reclaim just a small piece of her people's history. She stood from her cross-legged position in front of the mirror, turning with a soft sigh to answer the knocking.

She opened the door, expecting Isabela or Hawke, but was surprised to see Alistair framed in the doorway, smiling warmly as his eyes met hers. "Hello, Merrill."

"Andaran atish'an," she replied, finding it difficult to keep a calm countenance in such unexpected company. She was, for the first time that she could remember, rendered almost entirely speechless. However, after a moment of silence to recollect her thoughts, she murmured, "Did you come alone?"

"No, Varric accompanied me from the Hanged Man. We were heading to Hightown to meet Hawke and Arais at the estate, but I asked Varric if we could stop here for a moment." She lifted a brow in silent confusion, relaxing at the idea of her dwarven friend's presence. "I wanted to thank you for all that you did three years ago. I would never have met my mother if you hadn't discovered I was part elf."

"If it weren't for the Keeper, I wouldn't have known for sure. All I really did was sense the blood in that amulet was elven." Her mouth curved in a deep frown. "And being trained as a Templar, I doubt you can appreciate my blood magic. Everyone else hates me for it, why would you be any different?"

The smile that had been precariously balanced on Alistair's lips fell as his eyes met hers, the lines around them creasing with worry. "I may have been trained as a Templar, but that doesn't mean that I think as they do. It's true that I see the dangers posed by maleficarum and worry for your safety, but I will _not_ judge you based solely on the choices you make concerning your magic."

Any response she had died on her lips as the door flew open, crashing against the wall as Varric came stumbling over the threshold, Bianca at the ready. "Err… I hate to interrupt," he started, "but I have unexpected company out here. I could use some help."

Without speaking, Merrill followed Alistair and Varric from the hovel. Before she had a chance to assess the situation, a blade sank into her side. She let out a harsh gasp before she instinctively elbowed her attacker in the face, knocking him back far enough to bury the bladed end of her staff into his chest.

Fighting through the pain of a fresh wound, Merrill drew power from the blood seeping from her side, sparks showering from her finger tips as she sent a bolt of electricity at the chest of Alistair's target. The lightning ricocheted between the enemies surrounding the warrior, felling half a dozen men before its power fizzled out.

A group of men surrounded her, and as they got close, she could sense a desire demon's control over her attackers. She reached out poisonous wisps, ensnaring the men in a painful embrace that left them bloody, but eased the aching wound in her side until it was nearly healed.

"Not so fast, bastard," Isabela said from behind Merrill, and the elf whirled just in time to see the rogue appear suddenly and sink her blades into the attacker that had been approaching Merrill unnoticed. The pirate winked at Merrill before melting into the shadows once more, and the young mage refocused on the battle.

As another swarm of possessed men came out of the shadows, Merrill started to feel the strain of battle despite having healed herself. She thrust her staff into her belly, concentrating solely on the attackers as waves of energy rolled from her and into them. When she gathered the stamina to lift her head, she saw the victims of her spell, heads thrown back and bodies twitching in agony. Blood hemorrhaged from every visible orifice as their veins burst, Merrill's magic continuing to tear them apart from the inside. She removed the blade from her stomach and straightened, preparing to cast a spell when her head suddenly felt light and she swooned, consumed by a dark void as consciousness fled.

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><p><strong>*hides under covers* Please don't hurt me... I've had mono and it's seriously kicked my ass. My fever was 102.4 at the worst, and 99.1 at the best for the better part of a week. I'm on antibiotics and was finally able to finish this chapter. Please forgive the thirteen day wait...<strong>

**Thanks to twixtnightandmorn for helping me out with the fine tuning.**


	30. Chapter 30: Distress

_Stab first, ask questions later?_

_Trust me, it's better this way._

_- Hawke and Isabela_

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><p>An hour had passed since Fenris had lost consciousness from the healing, and Arais realized that Gwyneth still hadn't said a word since he had arrived. Nothing she said could convince her cousin that this was a normal reaction to a mind healing, so Arais—nursing a health poultice for the ache in her head—watched silently as Gwyneth tended to the elf.<p>

Voices drifted into the bedchamber from the main hall, quiet at first but growing in volume until Arais was able to make out Isabela's voice, laced with desperation. She shared a look with Gwyneth before standing from her seat by the bed, exiting the room to uncover what the fuss was about. What she found was Bodahn staring awestruck at Alistair, an unconscious Merrill resting in his arms, her head cradled as gently as a babe's. Blood caked the elf's robes, a tear in the fabric revealing a gaping hole in her belly.

"Maker, what happened?" Arais asked, hurrying down the stairs to examine Merrill. The stomach wound told her the girl had been using blood magic, and restoring her back to health would be difficult—more so because she had just performed a mind healing.

"She fainted," Isabela stated impatiently. "Please, Arais. Help her." Looking at the pirate with a frown, Arais nodded, knowing she'd be out of commission for a few days after this. She walked over and cleared a table that would be long enough to support Merrill, gesturing for Alistair to lay her down.

"Bodahn, can you get a bucket of water and a washcloth for me?" He nodded and rushed off as quickly as she'd ever seen him move. The elven serving girl, Orana, was watching on with a pained expression, and Arais vaguely recalled Gwyneth mentioning that Merrill had been there when they'd rescued the girl. She looked as if she wanted to help, so Arais said, "Orana, my rucksack is in Gwyneth's bedchamber. Could you get it for me, please?"

"Of course, mistress."

Returning her attention to Merrill, Arais examined the wound more closely. The tear in the elf's flesh was smooth, but the size was incredible. It ran the length of her hand, and Arais was amazed that the girl was still alive. She tore the fabric around the injury away when Bodahn returned, and, reaching into the bucket, she heated the water before she pulled the cloth out and began cleaning off the blood.

In moments the water was stained crimson, and she had to send Bodahn to fetch clean water while she began healing, Orana returning with the rucksack soon after. She let her hands hover over Merrill's stomach, forcing herself to fight past the barriers her psyche was throwing up, warning her of the blood magic responsible for the injury. Her head ached acutely as she broke through the last ethereal wall preventing her from performing the healing.

A vial filled with shimmering liquid was pressed to her lips, and she looked up into Alistair's uneasy gaze. She tilted her head back and allowed the lyrium potion to burn its way down her throat, the replenishment of her mana small but enough to finish. Ghostly blue tendrils wound their way through Merrill's skin when Arais looked down again, weaving between the edges of the wound to pull them together.

The last of the energy drained from her body through her fingertips. Arais staggered back from the table, regaining her balance only when Alistair's hands rested on her shoulders. He led her to a chair, pushing her to sit, and she watched as Isabela hurried to the elf's side, enveloping Merrill's hand in both of hers. It was clear they were involved, though, when they had met years ago, Arais never would have pegged Isabela the type to fall in love to any degree. It was funny how things unexpectedly changed.

* * *

><p>It had been quiet in the clinic lately. A few injuries from the frequent scuffles in Darktown were all that Anders seemed to be contending with lately. The children would come by every once in a while to play with Pounce, and some days those were the only visitors he received.<p>

Stroking the tabby's fur absent-mindedly, he forced himself to ignore the complaints of the spirit within him, frustrated by the distraction the animal caused. It was trying when part of him wanted to punt the cat into the Waking Sea—a part that hadn't been there the last time he'd seen Pounce.

The door opened minutes later to Arais, accompanied by Hawke and Alistair. The warrior's eyes were fixated on her, concern evident in the lines creasing his forehead. Anders could see why as he studied her—dark circles under her eyes were accentuated by her sallow skin, and it looked as if she hadn't slept in days. He had heard from Hawke the healings Arais had performed nearly a week earlier, but—as strenuous as they may have been—she should have recovered by now.

_There is something ailing the Warden Commander. I sense another presence within her, one that is in distress. She does not know of it._ Anders' eyes widened at the implication Justice's thought held. He knew the effect the taint had on a Grey Warden's fertility: for Arais and Alistair to have conceived a child together was nigh impossible. However, as he let his senses reach out and touch his fellow mage, he confirmed what Justice supposed: she was with child.

Awestruck, Anders was hardly aware of Arais' feeble attempt at a smile as she greeted him. What he was mindful of was the suddenness of her cry as she doubled over, surprising her companions as well as Anders. She fell to the ground when her knees buckled, no longer able to support herself. She curled into a tight ball, her face contorted in a look of agony that seemed to terrify Alistair. He had gotten to his knees behind her, his eyes pleading with Anders to help his beloved. Squatting beside her, Anders lifted the afflicted woman into his arms, feeling warm moisture spreading on the skirt of her robes. She cried out as she convulsed, tears staining her cheeks from the pain.

Laying her on the table, he tried to gently coax her into lying flat on her back, but she wouldn't budge from her position. He looked over to Alistair and said, "You need to help me lay her flat. I need to examine her and I can't with her like this."

Alistair nodded, though uncertainty bled from his eyes as he removed his gauntlets and gently forced Arais to lay straight and on her back. Anders wiped his now bloodstained hand on his robes, grateful that no one else seemed to notice it. He was reluctant to reveal what he knew of her condition at that time: it would only add to their distress. Placing his hands just above her belly, he could sense the pain she was feeling and flinched, subsequently diagnosing her problem.

She was going to lose the babe.

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><p><strong>Thanks to twixtnightandmorn for reading over this chapter. It was hard to write. That is all.<strong>


	31. Chapter 31: Loss

_Oh, yes, demons are very helpful, right up until they take your mind and turn you into a monster. - Hawke_

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><p>Staring at Anders across the table, Gwyneth's concern and curiosity grew. His hands gently held the cup of tea she'd given him, but it remained untouched otherwise. He'd asked her to meet him at her estate to speak privately, and she could only speculate that it had something to do with Arais. Whatever was bothering him must have been truly vexatious if he had risked venturing to Hightown during the day, so she stayed silent, feeling it unwise to push.<p>

"She was pregnant," he muttered after a quarter of an hour, his face draining of color. Were it not for his reaction to simply speaking the words, Gwyneth would have doubted she had heard him correctly. "I don't know how to tell her. Grey Wardens have a difficult enough time conceiving in the first place. For her to lose the child… how do you tell someone _that_?"

She was unsure how to answer his question, so she said the only thing that came to mind. "Do you think it could have been because of the healings?"

"I'm not certain. Stress normally doesn't cause miscarriages, from what I've seen. It's just a woman's inability to carry a child to term. But with Arais… she had not only performed a mind healing on Fenris, but she healed Merrill as well. As a healer myself, I know the strain healing a blood mage can put on a spirit healer: think of it as going up against at least three Revenants and a rage demon, all at once, with only basic blades."

"Shit," Gwyneth breathed, putting her face in her hands. A thought occurred to her, and she let her hands fall back to the table. "Arais told me of the effect the taint has on the ability for a woman to get pregnant. She also said it was almost impossible for her and Alistair to get pregnant, since they were both Grey Wardens. How in the Maker's name is this even possible?"

"I was thinking that myself. Since I hadn't been with Alistair without Arais since he and Justice had met, I had always sensed the taint when he was there. Yesterday night, just for curiosity's sake, I tried to feel the taint within them separately. I don't know how in the bloody Void it happened, but Alistair is clean. He's no longer a Warden."

"What?" She shook her head, immediately theorizing what could have happened to make that possible. "_Mensana_… do you think it's possible they can remove the taint from someone the same way she removed the lyrium from my body?"

"So little is known about them, I wouldn't be surprised." Anders pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "This is going to be impossible to tell them. If I didn't think Alistair would smite me where I stand, I would refuse to tell them at all."

Gwyneth nodded, resisting the urge to point out that Justice could just as easily smite him back. "Well, Arais is my cousin. I'd like to be the one to tell her and Alistair about the babe, if you don't mind?" Anders shook his head, a small, grateful smile on his lips. "I need your help with something in return, though."

"Anything: I owe you."

"I've been putting off cleaning out Mother's room. Part of me doesn't think I should, but, with Arais here, I don't want her staying in the Hanged Man if I can help it. Would you mind… helping me? I could use the support."

"Of course, Gwyn, I'd be happy to." He reached a hand across the table and squeezed hers reassuringly. "I'm proud of you, you know? You're a much stronger person than I could ever hope to be."

* * *

><p>Merrill shifted on the bed, rousing from her first restful sleep in over a week. Her muscles were finally beginning to loosen, the soreness from her near-fatal use of blood magic subsiding gradually. The tongue lashings she had received from Isabela and Varric were trivial to her own self-reproach. She had never overused her own life force (or anyone else's, for that matter) since she had begun practicing, and to have made such a foolish mistake was unforgiveable.<p>

Every night for half of a week was filled with relentless spirits in the Fade, preying on her weakness. She had never felt more out of control than she had those nights, all attempts to conceal herself from the demons failing because she was too fragile to keep her guard up. She had lost count of the number of times she had nearly succumbed to the enticement of a demon, and likely would have, had Isabela not been there to wake her when she seemed especially tormented.

Looking over at her friend and lover, Merrill frowned. Isabela's cheeks were gaunt, the dark circles under her eyes betraying the lack of concern for her own health during Merrill's recovery. The elf turned her body and scooted up to Isabela's side, draping her arm across the pirate's bare stomach as she conformed to her curves. A hand rested on her forearm, and she looked up to see Isabela smiling down at her, sleep clouding her golden eyes.

Returning the smile, Merrill rested her head in the hollow of Isabela's shoulder and closed her eyes, waiting for sleep to take her once again. The last thing she heard before she slipped into the Fade was a whispered, "I love you, Kitten."

* * *

><p>"Maker's titty twisting uncle, I can walk, Alistair!" Arais cried, twisting away from him when he reached for her again. "It's been two days. I feel fine!"<p>

"But Hightown is a significant trek, love. I'd rather be safe than sorry," he replied, his lower lip sticking out ever so slightly in a pout.

"Well I refuse to be carted around all of Kirkwall like a child. I'm a grown woman, and the Commander of the Grey." She held up a hand as he went to speak. "No, Ali. You will not win this battle, so give it up."

He huffed out a defeated sigh, glaring at her playfully. "Fine, but if you fall over in the middle of the street, don't come to me for help. I'll just say, 'Didn't I say you should have let me carry you.'"

"Duly noted. Now let's go before—"

She was cut off when Gwyneth and Anders entered the clinic, both their expressions grave. They approached the bickering couple silently, and a weight settled itself uncomfortably in Arais' stomach. Guilt seemed to flash constantly in Anders' gaze as he stared at her, unable to maintain eye contact for more than a few moments before he shifted his attention to a distant spot over her shoulder.

"What happened?" Alistair asked, reading Arais' thoughts exactly.

"Cousin…" Gwyneth started, trailing off as she seemed to lose her chain of thought. She cleared her throat and began again with, "Arais, there's something I have to tell you and Alistair. It… well, it has to do with what happened the other night. You were—You had been… with child, and you miscarried."

"What?" she murmured, the weight doubling.

"I'm so sorry," Anders stated quickly, regret plain in his voice. "I wish I were wrong about this. I truly do."

She stared at them in disbelief before tears filled her eyes, overflowing steadily until her cheeks were slick with moisture. Sobs wracked her body, making it impossible for her to speak further. She fell to her knees, and was vaguely aware of Alistair kneeling beside her, his hand on her back in silent support. When she looked up, she saw his tears through her own. She collapsed into his arms, the two of them holding each other as if only they could keep each other from falling into pieces. No loss had been this potent since Ostagar, and her heart longed for the child she would now never have.

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><p><strong>I had to post this one right away. Only I've read it over and edited it, so any errors that have been looked over are my own. My regular beta, twixtnightandmorn, wasn't online, and I just wanted to get this chapter out of the way. I hope I did it justice... hope you enjoyed, and thanks to all who have read and reviewed thus for. I'm so grateful.<strong>


	32. Chapter 32: Narrating

_The Champion was at the heart of it when it all began. If you can't point me to her, tell me everything you know. - Cassandra_

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><p>Rubbing her eyes with her thumb and forefinger, Cassandra shook her head. It was all unfolding before her, and rather than having her questions answered, she was only finding herself with more. The Warden Commander had always been a rational woman, careful to keep the Wardens she was charged with in line. Recruitment had soared under her leadership, and she inspired loyalty amongst nobles and commoners—dwarves, elves, and humans—alike. To have changed so drastically—to have done what she had—was nearly unfathomable.<p>

"It isn't as unbelievable as you think, Seeker," the dwarf stated, leaning back in the seat he had been forced into hours earlier. "No matter how strong you think you are, there's no bouncing back from what the Hero of Ferelden experienced without becoming a different person. In a way, you can't blame her for what happened."

"Then who can be blamed? The companions she healed? The taint in her blood? What else could you possibly think to blame her actions on?" When Varric simply shrugged, she placed her hands on her head in frustration. "What the Commander did was her decision. No one forced her hand."

"Except maybe Sebastian," he retorted, lifting a brow as he spoke. "He's not blameless in this situation. If you would let me continue without interrupting, maybe you'll be able to see that for yourself."

Cassandra sighed, waving her hand to hurry him along.

* * *

><p><em>The Warden Commander became a new woman after the loss of her unborn child. Much of her old persona was lost to a hardened, more protective attitude toward those she called friend, family, or lover. She threw herself into her abilities, running Anders' clinic while he aided the Champion with the dispute between the mages and Templars.<em>

_The Champion made good use of the exiled bastard prince of Ferelden. Further changed from the man who had left his homeland to become a wandering drunk, his unbiased opinions on the plight of the mages made him a favorite with both First Enchanter Orsino and—in particular—Knight-Commander Meredith—resentful of the Champion for siding with the First Enchanter in the debacle outside the Chantry._

_As tensions rose between the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander, rebellions started forming throughout Kirkwall. The Champion's aid was sought out by First Enchanter Orsino to handle the situation without involving the Knight-Commander. When the Templars and mages who had teamed up against the Knight-Commander caught wind of the Champion's involvement in the investigation, they made a decision that affected us all._

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><p><strong>I went for something a little different this time around. I know it's really short, but all my attempts to make it longer ruined the effect it was supposed to have.<strong>

**Thanks to twixtnightandmorn for her endless support!**


	33. Chapter 33: Intentions

_Why would a mortal ever allow such a thing?_

_For life. For love. Perhaps together, you can do what they cannot do alone. If you gave instead of taking, I would consider you no demon._

_- Justice and Nathaniel_

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><p>"So I shouldn't slit my wrists and dance naked under the moonlight just to fit in?" Gwyneth asked ironically.<p>

"I would pay to see that!" Anders replied exuberantly. Alistair had to stifle a laugh at the look on First Enchanter Orsino's face: it looked as if the man was trying desperately not to imagine exactly what the Champion had said.

"Curb your tongue, mage," Fenris said in a threatening aside to Anders, narrowed green eyes glaring at the mage behind an errant lock of snow white hair. Anders contorted his expression into one that expressed his level of give-a-shit: not very high, to be sure. Though he and Fenris were always at odds because of their starkly contrasted views on magic, since the healing, the former slave seemed to be significantly more prone to overreact—especially where their leader was concerned.

"If that's what you intend, perhaps I'll join you after all." The entire party stared at the First Enchanter, taken aback by his statement. Alistair could practically feel the waves of fury radiating from the elven warrior behind him, and—when he looked over to Anders—saw an expression of suppressed hysterics rivaling his own.

"Just learn the nature of this meeting," Orsino continued, oblivious to what his statement had caused. "You needn't interrupt unless you find proof of something sinister. I pray not, or Meredith will have what she needs to justify the Right of Annulment."

Nodding her understanding, Gwyneth turned and pushed past the men into the hallway, Alistair following her immediately. The sun had been moving slowly toward the western horizon while they were meeting with the First Enchanter. As they passed through the gates that led into the Gallows, something told him that this evening was not going to end well.

* * *

><p>Anders watched as Fenris pushed ahead of their leader, her gait faltering only slightly before falling into the cautious pace that was the norm when following the elf. The Coterie factions from the outskirts of Hightown had fallen prey to a gang of blood mages, and they stalked in the shadows, ready to pounce on the first threat to enter their territory.<p>

The first sign that it was no longer just the four of them in the alley that opened into Hightown was the flare of blood magic that sent Anders' mana aflame. Justice raged within him, and he felt his skin crackle and burn with the spirit's energy. The soft glow illuminated a dagger that came hurtling toward him, the blade slicing clean across his cheek before he could get out of the way.

Not taking the time to heal the superficial wound, he surrounded a blood mage with a wall of suffocating spirit energy. He closed his hand around his staff, pulling it from its sheath swiftly and thrusting the end of his staff forward into the belly of one of the thralls, knocking the wind from him. Anders sent a blast of frost at his attacker, grinning despite himself when Alistair shattered the now frozen target.

Summoning a ball of flame that danced ferociously in the palm of his hand, he tossed it into a small group of enemies that aimed to surround Gwyneth. The explosion sent them sprawling awkwardly onto the ground, Fenris driving his blade into the throats of the ones nearest him.

_Be wary: someone is approaching from behind._ Heeding Justice's warning, he turned on his heel, knocking back the attacker with a blast of psychic energy before they had a chance to strike. As his mana began to rapidly deplete, he felt a surge of power course through him. A silver-blue haze began to swirl about Anders, his blood boiling. He resisted the urge to double over as his stomach cramped painfully—an expected reaction to Justice's assistance: his body wasn't strong enough to receive pure Fade energy without taking damage.

He focused on a newly arrived group of blood mages and their minions, casting a glyph under them that left them frozen in place. In quick succession, he raised his hands in the air, summoning a storm of flaming projectiles that crashed into the stone around and within the glyph. He watched momentarily as they suffered silently, their unrelenting agony showing only in their eyes.

The glow in Anders' skin faded as the last of the attackers collapsed into a smoldering heap with a sickening thud, the flesh hanging grotesquely from the corpse's bones. He looked away, only to have his gaze fall on the decapitated corpses, faintly charred from his fireball. His desensitization to the carnage that occurred at his hand was becoming more apparent, and it worried him. If he lost his ability to feel remorse for his actions when aiding Gwyneth, what more would he become capable of?

_We will do whatever is necessary to end the persecution of mages in Thedas. No means is too severe to achieve that end._ Anders tried to close out Justice's tirade. He was losing control of the spirit, and as Justice's disdain for the Chantry grew, Anders' did as well. He doubted that he would be able to keep from taking the action Justice deemed necessary.

As he began to follow his companions through Hightown to Gwyneth's estate once again, he realized something with horrifying certainty: he _would_ do what Justice demanded of him, no matter the consequences.

* * *

><p>As the last patient left the clinic, Arais let out a heavy sigh. She was beginning to feel the strain of putting in countless hours at the clinic, but she refused to abandon it. Her heart still ached for her lost child, and the only thing keeping her mind off of her grief was the constant distraction of working with Anders' patients.<p>

She leaned back against one of the examination tables, a dull ache forming behind her eyes. She knew she was pushing herself too hard, refusing to drink any lyrium potions until her mana was almost entirely drained. Alistair and Anders had both scolded her for her poor self-treatment—something they didn't realize Arais was fully aware of, but had no intention of rectifying, for the moment.

Pushing away from the table, she placed her staff on her back and exited the clinic, heading for the stairs that led out of Darktown. The fresh air of Hightown would do her some good, and she was certain Gwyneth would appreciate a visit, despite the increasing lateness of the hour.

When she approached the steps, a sudden wave of dizziness overwhelmed her, and her chest ached as she felt the mana drain from her. She landed painfully on her knees as they buckled, no longer able to hold her weight. She forced herself to look up, her vision too blurred to tell who was approaching her. The only thing she was able to identify was the hazy outline of the Templar insignia on the chest plate of the massive armor worn by those who lifted her from the ground gently—something she found odd, even though her mind was clouded.

A figure came within arm's length of her, and she lazily lifted her head to look at him. She couldn't distinguish more than his medium length red hair, and an inkling of fear seeped into her conscious. She mustered a stare as defiant as was possible, daring him to lay a finger on her. She was left with only confusion when he stepped back a pace in response.

"We mean you no harm, Warden Commander, but this is necessary. We must do whatever it takes to end the Knight-Commander's tyranny." Dizziness overwhelmed her once more as the Templars continued to hold her mana just out of reach. She soon became so increasingly fatigued, that she found it impossible to resist the deep sleep that only a mage could force upon her, and Arais was soon lost to unconsciousness.


	34. Chapter 34: Rescue

_I've heard the nobles grousing about the commoners moving up. Congratulations, Hawke! You ruined the neighborhood! - Varric_

* * *

><p>"So what's the plan, Hawke?" Varric asked as they approached the Wounded Coast. Gwyneth turned to her companions, realizing as she looked amongst them that this was the first time they had all traveled together. Each had their own personal reasons for coming along, but the common one was clear: they refused to be left out of the search for Arais.<p>

"We split up." She thought for a moment, silently sorting her companions into groups. "Aveline, I want you to take Sebastian, Isabela and Merrill up the northern path, and I'll take Alistair, Fenris, Varric and Anders with me down the southern." A thought occurred to Gwyneth before she removed the bulk of her health poultices from her rucksack. She handed them to Aveline. "Take these. We have Anders, but Merrill can't perform healing magic."

"Got it," Aveline replied with a nod, placing the vials in her own bag before she motioned for her party to follow, heading off in the direction of their assigned path.

Turning away from those who remained, she frowned at the gravity of the situation as she started down the path. Aside from Gamlen, Arais was the only family Gwyneth had left, and they had become as close as sisters—something she had longed for since losing Bethany. Her blood boiled at the thought of losing yet another member of her family simply because she held status in Kirkwall, and she quickened her pace purposefully.

Taking the path that led to where they had located Seamus Dumar six years earlier, part of her couldn't help but think that it wasn't just Gwyneth these zealots were targeting. She knew as well as any the pull Alistair had with Knight-Commander Meredith. That combined with Hawke's influence over First Enchanter Orsino was formidable, and there was no doubt they knew that.

"Gwyn!" Anders cried from the back, his warning giving her just enough time to dodge a Templar's blade.

She faded out of view as her attacker was knocked back by a bolt from Bianca, and ignited a flask that she kicked into the group of Templars closest to her. Their once rapid approach now decreased exponentially, the haze enveloping them turning their limbs to stone. Positioning herself behind the lieutenant, she found an opening in his armor and sank one of her blades deep, twisting it as she drew the other across his throat.

A soft green glow illuminated the clearing, and before the rebel mage with the group was able to cast a spell, he and the Templars were flung away from the center of a now-clearly defined glyph. Gwyneth turned to Anders and shouted, "Paralyze them!" before turning back to the battle. Another marking overlapped the existing one, and their opponents were frozen in the midst of trying to regain their composure. Motioning to Alistair to gather the enemy mage, she approached one of the Templars and kicked away any weapons that were within reach.

Squatting in front of him, she looked into his eyes, glaring furiously. "I doubt your leader would be pleased if they learned you killed the Champion of Kirkwall before they could make their demands known. Wouldn't you agree?" The desperation in his eyes was all the answer she needed. "Good. Anders?"

A soft chuckle sounded from behind her as the glyph disappeared, and Gwyneth turned to see Anders shaking his head in disbelief. The fact that the 'guards' held a stab-first-ask-questions-later attitude during what was supposed to be—according to Keran—a 'peaceful kidnapping' worried her, and left her more wary than when she had first set off.

* * *

><p>A smothering numbness continued to hold Arais prisoner in her own body, leaving her unable to do something as simple as opening her eyes to view her surroundings. Frustrated, she breathed as deeply as she could through her nose. A soft breeze brushed her face, carrying with it the acrid scent of sea water: that partnered with the grainy earth digging painfully into her skin told her she was on a beach of some sort. She could deduce little more than that.<p>

A familiar voice began to speak, but the words were muffled by the blood magic that howled in Arais' ears. She could only identify it as the Templar who had reassured her when she was taken before her head started to ache. She had heard him called Thrask when she awoke from the spell that had been used to initially subdue her—one that was quickly replaced by her now waking coma.

She wanted to cry out as a small amount of mana began to burn within her, the sting of blood magic becoming sharper. Wave after wave of agony washed over her as the essence of her power returned in violent surges, and she was forced to suffer in motionless silence as chaos erupted around her. The harsh clang of steel blades clashing barely broke through the roaring in her ears. Arais felt the ground beneath her tremble as something heavy fell to the ground beside her, showering her in a fine mist of sand.

Suddenly she was left with only the pulsating hum of forbidden magic to keep the silence at bay, desperately wishing she could open her eyes to see what had happened. A male voice said something softly, and she had no time to wonder at what had been said before all sound was silenced, leaving her in a deafening blackness. She could feel the oppressive weight of the blood magic lifting, and her eyes flew open when life returned to her muscles.

Rolling onto her side, Arais looked at what had landed beside her, only to see Alistair sprawled on his back, unconscious. She sat up quickly and crawled over to him, ignoring the dizziness that swept over her when she moved. Her hands rested on his armored chest as she studied him, searching for any visible signs of injury before taking off one of his gauntlets and pressing her fingers to his wrist.

Relief as potent as any Antivan poison coursed through her when she felt the steady rhythm of his pulse beneath her fingertips. A tear slipped down her cheek, falling onto her hand before she went to remove the other gauntlet and chest plate, intending to do a more thorough examination.

"Arais," Anders said from behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, glaring in response to his concerned frown. He sighed before turning away, walking over to where Gwyneth stood with Fenris and Varric. She returned her attention to Alistair, still not finding any fatal wounds on him.

A soft groan escaped his lips, his eyelids fluttering as he pushed himself up on his elbow. He blinked, and once his dark golden eyes met her liquid silver, any semblance of composure she had was lost to silent weeping. Alistair's rough hand rested upon her cheek lovingly as she hung her head, her hair draping over her face and casting it in shadows to hide the freefalling tears.

Arais realized how close they were coming to losing each other again, and she'd be damned if she allowed that to happen.

* * *

><p><strong>*grumble* I'm getting sick of my angsty chapters. Where's the fluff? Where's the sex? MAKER CURSE THE LOGHAINIC PLOT BUNNIES STRAIGHT TO THE FUCKING VOID!<strong>


	35. Chapter 35: Communication

_So you're a Howe?_

_Do you have a point, mage?_

_Hey, I'm fond of the Howes! I'm also fond of the Whys, the Whos and the Whats._

_How clever._

_It's shameful how long it took me to come up with that._

_- Anders and Nathaniel_

* * *

><p>"Did Arais say anything about that woman she and Anders were stopped by in the Chantry courtyard?" Fenris asked, lazily playing with Hawke's close cropped black hair.<p>

She traced the outline of one of the markings on his chest, sighing softly against his skin. "She never came back to the mansion. Sebastian mentioned that the woman had been looking for someone to help her find her brother in the Deep Roads. Apparently he's a Grey Warden from Ferelden who was sent here on some expedition."

"Perhaps he was one of the other Wardens recruited by your cousin?"

"Perhaps," Hawke responded, rolling on top of him before he could register her movement. She dipped her head to kiss his throat, seeming to ever-so-carefully avoid the especially sensitive markings just below his chin.

"I take it you don't wish to speak of this at the moment?" She deliberately nipped at the flesh surrounding the marking that reached just below his ear, and he growled before he flipped her onto her back and pinned her arms on either side of her body. Lowering his lips until they were a mere breath away from hers, he whispered harshly, "You need to learn to communicate with your words, Hawke."

* * *

><p>The stale stench of the Deep Roads assaulted Alistair, and he found himself instinctively bracing for the melodic hum that would come when the taint sparked to life. When Arais and Anders stiffened momentarily before relaxing into battle ready postures, he sighed dejectedly and focused on the ground as he walked.<p>

He felt naked and defenseless. No amount of armor or number of magical protections could make up for the loss of being able to sense danger around every corner. It didn't matter that Alistair was with two other Grey Wardens, capable of doing exactly what he no longer could: it just made him feel isolated—as if his purpose had been wrenched from him. It reminded him of what had happened seven years earlier—of what he thought he had lost forever and very nearly did only days earlier.

When they stopped, he looked up to see Arais staring at him, brows furrowed in concern. He gave her a half-smile. He knew he couldn't fool her, of all people, into believing he was fine, but he tried nonetheless. No longer being a Warden paled in comparison to everything else he had overcome with Arais in recent memory. He would simply have to adjust to relying on those he now traveled with for warning, and defend them to the best of his ability.

No pressure.

* * *

><p>Arais pulled the bladed end of her staff from the belly of the darkspawn she had just felled, turning with a flourish as she beheaded two more. She slammed the tip of the blade into the stone ground, casting a wave of telekinetic energy outward, knocking back half a dozen darkspawn that attempted to flank her and Anders.<p>

Spotting a small group of the monsters surround the lone archer in the middle of the clearing, she cast a protective shield around him. After a moment of deep concentration, she summoned a swirling funnel of ice over the mass of deformed creatures that would have surely overwhelmed the man they targeted. Most froze instantaneously—shattering with the force behind each blow from Alistair's blade—while others were simply slowed enough to be left defenseless against a sword or arrow.

Alistair stood back to back with the man as the last of the shattered pieces melted into the blood stained stone. A darkspawn collapsed as it rushed forward, an arrow protruding from the center of its forehead—further confirming that they had indeed found Nathaniel Howe, and he was just as competent a fighter now as he had been when he was recruited.

"Seems we were wrong about the Deep Roads," Arais said as she approached the two men, smiling despite her wariness. Nathaniel turned on his heel as he strapped his bow on his back, eyebrow raised in confused recognition. "Why did I spare the Architect again?"

"Arais?" He stepped forward, his eyes narrowed. "Anders?"

"Making friends as always, I see," Anders quipped from beside Arais.

Nathaniel smiled. "There's no escaping you, it seems."

"He's special that way," Arais said, shrugging when Anders turned to her with a friendly glare. "What? It's usually you doing the escaping, remember?"

"Fair point," he conceded. Anders turned back to Nathaniel. "So what are you doing down here, anyway?"

He looked between them before responding. "The Champion went further into the Deep Roads than anyone thought possible. The First Warden himself ordered this investigation." His gray eyes met Arais'. "I had hoped you were right about the darkspawn numbers waning over time, but that seems to have been wishful thinking: nothing more."

"Where are the others? Certainly you didn't come down here on your own."

"Of course not. When we were attacked, I was separated from the rest of my expedition. Some of them may yet live, including Oghren, Sigrun and Velanna."

Arais blinked, surprised to hear the elf's name. "Velanna? I thought she disappeared after the siege on Vigil's Keep?"

"It's… a long story," Nathaniel said noncommittally, turning away. "She returned to the Wardens several months after she left."

"Oh, dear Maker!" Anders cried out, momentarily glowing when Justice made his presence known. "That is something I did _not_ need to know."

"What is it?" Arais asked, concerned. The mage looked horrified by whatever it was Justice had informed him of. He simply shook his head, a hand covering his eyes as he did. Shrugging, she turned back to Nathaniel. "Let's search the tunnels. I'd rather not leave any potential survivors behind if I can help it."

"Thank you," he replied over his shoulder, heading into a cavern with Alistair close behind. She gave Anders one last look: he seemed to have regained his composure, though his face was now devoid of color.

A memory of his reaction to Gwyneth coming to his clinic—stiff from lyrium infusing with her muscles—caused Arais to stumble a bit, realizing what Anders' better half had told him. She closed her eyes, her cheeks flushing as she battled back the images threatening to overwhelm her.

She was going to kill Justice for that.

* * *

><p>"Get back, you sodding beast!" a familiar voice called, blessedly tearing Anders from the… upsetting images that were now plaguing him. The whistle of an axe slicing through the air was as sharp as the blade that cleaved into an ogre's hip. The monster roared, enraged, as it reached for the dwarf with what seemed to be every intention of crushing him into a fine powder.<p>

Narrowly evading the massive hand that clutched at him, Oghren pulled his axe back for one final swing into the ogre, dispatching its head in a single, swift movement. He sent it flying backward into a small contingent of darkspawn that attempted to surround him, leaving them in lifeless heaps on the stone ground.

Another pair of ogres came from a chamber to the right, and the overwhelming number of spells that were cast upon them left Anders in a daze, unaware of which were his. A wolf lunged out of the shadows, its jaw clamping down on the arm of one before it was tossed roughly against the wall. The animal struck against itnwith a sickening thud, letting out a cry in its agony as it landed on the floor, hard.

Nathaniel rushed from his position by the levers that triggered the explosives over to the wounded creature, lifting and carrying it back to the shadows it had emerged from, motioning for Anders to follow. Dodging the hail of enemy arrows that were flying across the cavern, he ducked into the shadows to see Nathaniel clothing—as best he could—a severely injured Velanna, who had transformed back into an elf in her state of unconsciousness.

"Go back to the others," Anders commanded forcefully. "I'll take care of her."

With a nod, the archer hesitated before hurrying back to his position, readying himself to detonate the bombs when the opportunity presented itself. The mage returned his attention to the woman before him, immediately spotting an unnatural bend to her arm and a gash bleeding profusely on her scalp. He went to work immediately, hurrying along the mending of the wound on her head before setting the bone in her arm and focusing his healing magic upon it.

_A darkspawn is drawing near,_ Justice warned, forcing Anders to cease in tending to Velanna and turn on his knees, shrouding his would-be attacker in ice. Sigrun appeared from nowhere and drove her blades into its back, shattering it with the force.

Anders eyes widened, and she simply shrugged. "I've got your back."

He nodded before turning back to Velanna, searching her for any serious or superficial injuries he may have missed in his initial examination, but finding none. She seemed to be breathing despite her unconsciousness, so he stood and turned back to the battle. An overwhelming number of corpses littered the ground, and yet a mass of living creatures were still putting up an impressive fight.

Back to back with Sigrun, he began casting spell after spell, allowing Justice to take limited control to add power as Anders drove himself to exhaustion. The number of darkspawn never seemed to dwindle, even as the number of the dead grew exponentially.

An explosion rocked the earth above and below him, bits of stone stinging his skin as they struck from the high ceiling. Darkspawn limbs scattered about, and yet another ogre stumbled forward before collapsing, revealing a rather large fragment of stone protruding from its skull.

As he neared his last lyrium potion, the battle finally seemed to be reaching its end, the body count extraordinary. Bottles and vials were strewn about, some only half empty in the user's haste to regain just a marginal amount of energy. The last of the hostiles fell, sliced from shoulder to hip. The sounds of their weapons being sheathed once more was the only noise for quite some time while everyone seemed to unconsciously form a circle.

"For the first time since I've been down here, I don't sense a single darkspawn," Nathaniel stated, receiving nods of concurrence from all but Alistair. "We've won."

"The route to the surface should be safe, now," Arais pointed out. "Let's find something in this Maker forsaken place to make a gurney for Velanna and get out of here. I'm bloody sick of the Deep Roads."

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry about how long it took to update. I've been working, and then some personal problems caused a most heinous writer's block on this story. It's better now, obviously, but I'm not 100 percent happy with what I came up with. I promise future chapters will be better. =D<strong>


	36. Chapter 36: Sacrifice

_The demon's plan was always for you to complete the mirror. It would have been a doorway out of his prison and into our world. You would have been his first victim. I... couldn't let that happen, da'len. - Marethari_

* * *

><p>"Merrill, we have to go. Hawke will start to wonder where we've disappeared to," Isabela urged gently, unable to ignore the shaking of the shoulder her hand rested upon. The elf hadn't stopped crying since driving a blade into Marethari's stomach.<p>

She shook her head violently, shrugging off Isabela's hand. "No. I can't face my clan after what happened—after what I did to the Keeper."

"You didn't do this, Merrill." Alistair walked around them to crouch beside Merrill. He had been relatively silent the entire trip up Sundermount, and Isabela had been surprised by his willingness to aid them on what Hawke had deemed a foolish endeavor. "Marethari chose for her life to be the one to end here, so you wouldn't have to suffer. She isn't the first Keeper I know of to go to such lengths for her clan, and she certainly won't be the last."

Merrill's head lifted, tears staining her cheeks. She looked utterly lost in her own mind, but she seemed to actually hear Alistair's words of comfort, judging by her baffled expression. Realization seemed to dawn on her before she spoke again. "You were one of the Grey Wardens who aided Zathrian's clan during the Blight." Her eyes closed, then, "Of course you were, you were traveling with Arais. You saved the entire clan from imminent destruction."

"No, I didn't do anything. Zathrian sacrificed himself: he did what he believed was honorable."

"I…" Merrill's gaze wandered to Marethari's mutilated corpse, the strain of transforming into a demon of pride mangling her body. She tore her eyes away after a moment, hastily moving to a standing position. "You're right. I should go to the clan. Someone needs to know—needs to come… take care of her."

As Alistair stood and went to join Varric waiting at the entrance to the chamber, Isabela grabbed Merrill by the hand to keep her from following immediately. "I won't say I'm sorry you're alive, Kitten. I can't imagine what I would have done if I'd lost you."

The elf smiled sadly, lifting a hand to Isabela's cheek. "Let's just go, Izzy. I don't want to be here any longer."

* * *

><p>The sight of the clan's hunters waiting at the entrance had incited terror within her. Nerves already on edge from the loss of a woman so beloved to her, Merrill felt herself on the brink of snapping and powerless to stop it. She hardly registered the words as she explained that the Keeper was dead, and the memory of Marethari's lifeless form flickered across her conscious with each harsh and accusatory word that spilled from the lips of either Ineria or Fenarel.<p>

Alistair stepped forward from the entrance to stand a respectable distance from the Dalish, his posture deceptively relaxed as he said, "We don't want to fight you. What happened is a tragedy, and I understand Marethari meant more to you than words can express: but you can't punish Merrill for something your Keeper willingly chose—ultimately, that will trump any blame you attempt to place on your former clanswoman. So let us walk away, and we promise to never come back."

"You expect us to take the word of a _shemlen_?" Ineria spat, causing Merrill to flinch. She was beginning to shake, and it was all she could do to keep from crying out in grief and frustration.

"Stand down, Ineria," Fenarel commanded, moving to a position in front of Merrill. "She was our first once. The Keeper loved her—more than she loved the clan, it seems."

A choked sob escaped her throat as she stepped closer to him, her heart desperate to wrench free from her chest when he recoiled from her close proximity. "Fenarel, I'm sorry. I never wanted this. If I could have saved her... if I could have died instead, I would have.

"Words are cheap. That you're still breathing says enough."

A snarl sounded from behind Merrill before her lover practically leapt forward. A dagger unsheathed and held to Ineria's throat before the elf had a chance to react, Isabela clutched her shoulder as she growled, "Back off, elf."

"Easy, Rivaini," Varric said as he approached the pirate, tentatively placing a hand on her back. She stepped backward, an intimidating glare in her narrowed eyes—the intensity of her expression rivaled only by the seething hatred in Ineria's.

Rubbing at her shoulder, the elf took a few steps back from Isabela."Filthy shem."

"Enough, Ineria!" Fenarel turned to Alistair, a commanding air about him as he spoke. "Human, take Merrill away from here. And be sure you keep your word."

And with that they were gone, dispersing rapidly from the clearing outside Pride's End. Merrill collapsed to her knees, her emotions reaching a turbulent breaking point. She cried out, every last bit of the pain she felt echoing through the skies of Sundermount as she shook with the sobs that threatened to break her fragile body. Physical pain met with the emotional, driving her maddeningly close to the edge of her sanity.

She felt her companions' presences surround her, their warmth a beacon in her cold self-loathing. Desperately she clung to it, praying to the Creators it would be enough to keep her from losing herself completely to what she had become.

* * *

><p>"So tell me how I ended up fighting this thing <em>again<em>?" Alistair asked, aware of Merrill's inability to do much more than stare listlessly into the dead eyes of the Varterral. He struggled to keep himself planted in his position a safe distance away from her, lest he find himself shaking some sense into the poor girl. He couldn't stand to see anyone suffering this much, let alone someone who deserved it as little as she. "Merrill?"

"It was bound here." Her tone was monotonous, eerily reminiscent of the Tranquil he had met during his trips to the Gallows. "As long as it has something to guard, duty will force it to stay alive."

"Sounds cheery." The attempt at humor fell on deaf ears, and he sighed as he headed for the exit. Movement out of the corner of his eye had him drawing his sword swiftly, turning in the direction of what he had seen—recognition hit him like a blow from a High Dragon's talons. "Oh, you've got to be bloody kidding me!"

"Alistair, my good friend!" Zevran cried, the same cheeky smirk he'd worn the day Arais had spared his life pulling gently at his lips. "What brings you to these dank caverns?"

"We were circumventing the Dalish camp on our way back to Kirkwall." Alistair blinked at the elf as he spoke, still not fully believing that he was seeing him. "You… I can't believe the Crows haven't killed you yet."

"Not for a lack of trying, I assure you. It is their efforts that have forced me into hiding in this dreadful little cavern, under the protection of the people I have only the loosest of connections to." He sighed wistfully, staring beyond Alistair at some insignificant spot on the stone walls. "I suppose I do deserve it, though, after killing the four assassins they've sent for me, and the Guildmaster."

"The Guildmaster!" Isabela said, having crept up behind Alistair silently enough to give him a start at her words. "It truly is a wonder they haven't done a better job at finding you, if that's the case."

Zevran laughed heartily, a sound that reverberated off the walls of the cave. "Isabela! If it isn't my favorite pirate wench!" He leered between Alistair and the pirate—an expression that was never followed by anything one could call innocent or appropriate. "It seems you two found your way back to each other once again after what happened with our dear Warden. I can't say I don't envy you, my friend."

"Wh-What?" Alistair stammered, gawking at the assassin as he felt his cheeks burn. "That is so… not what happened." He paused, then, "Though I suppose it's a more romantic version of events compared to what actually led to my arrival in the Free Marches."

"Oh?" Zevran lifted a brow in curiosity. "Do tell."

An idea began to present itself to Alistair, and in lieu of answering the elf's question outright, he simply asked, "Why don't you join us back to Kirkwall? I think I proved a more than worthy protector during the Blight, and it will give me a chance to tell you the rather long story of what happened after the Landsmeet."

"As tempting as that may be, might I offer you a bit of advice?"

Alistair groaned, the memory of the last conversation that line started creeping in. His cheeks turned a rather virulent shade of crimson. "Last time you said that, I wound up regretting allowing you to continue, but… what is it?"

"No worries, my friend. This advice is strictly profession, I assure you." He let out a soft chuckle before continuing, "I simply suggest that you deal with Nuncio as soon as possible. If you don't, he will only come after you."

"You have a point," Alistair conceded with a nod. "Do you know where we might find this Nuncio?"

"Indeed I do." A sly smile graced the assassin's lips. "Shall we, then? I grow weary of hiding."

* * *

><p><strong>Yes, a lot of the dialogue was canon, and some of it I messed with to make my own. Sue me, BioWare. I fuckin' dare ya! (kidding, please don't sue me... I's a poor, jobless sad human being) Anyway, hope y'all liked it. I'm still heartbroken over writing Merrill this time around, but... 3 I love her.<strong>


	37. Chapter 37: Rationalize

_Do you see yourself as harmless, then? An abomination who would never harm someone?_

_Like ripping someone's heart out of his chest?_

_I did that at the behest of no demon._

_So we agree that it doesn't take a demon for someone to be a vicious killer? Good._

_- Fenris and Anders_

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><p>Gwyneth looked away from Isabela and Sigrun—deep in conversation over some Nevarran romance they had both read—to the front entrance of the Hanged Man. A severely distracted Anders stood in the doorway—black robes disheveled—not entirely seeing as he looked out amongst the crowd. She stood from the table and hurried over to him, aware that Arais' attention had also been caught by the mage.<p>

"Anders?" she asked on her approach, noticing upon closer inspection that his skin was a ghostly shade of white. "Anders, what's wrong?"

"Hm?" He looked over to her, the focus returning to his eyes as he seemed to come back to himself. "What do you mean?"

She narrowed her eyes, searching his expression for any hint at what might be plaguing him. "Something is clearly bothering you. What is it?"

"It's nothing." Smiling—the action never quite reaching his eyes—his gaze wandered to a spot just beyond her shoulder. "Justice has been especially vocal lately. That's all."

"He never was the silent type," Arais stated, gesturing behind her. "Everyone's having a drink in honor of this unexpected reunion. Care to join us and possibly silence the spirit for a while?"

As Anders followed his former Commander to the tables littered with glasses of whiskey and mugs of ale, Gwyneth sighed. For weeks now, the mage had been acting outside of himself—whether it was disappearing from the clinic for hours without so much as a half-assed excuse explaining why, or simply vanishing after aiding her with one of the many errands she was assigned. He was becoming less dependable by the day, and she grew more suspicious and worried with every guilty glance she caught him casting her way.

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><p>Seated by Zevran and Alistair, Arais couldn't deny how unbelievable this set of circumstances was. Two men she had spent a great deal of time defending Ferelden with—and never expected to see again thereafter—were now chatting idly with those seated at the table. The assassin turned to Fenris, who was in a more involved conversation with Gwyneth. Arais could see the look of intrigue in the elf's eyes as he looked at the warrior with vague recognition.<p>

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Fenris asked, finally noticing the intent stare he was receiving.

"It wasn't intentional, I assure you." The underlying suggestiveness in his reply contradicted the statement. Arais rolled her eyes beneath closed lids, shaking her head at how little her friend had changed. "I was listening, actually. You sound very familiar to me."

She opened her eyes to see Fenris looking at Zevran with narrowed eyes. As he opened his lips to respond, the door to the Hanged Man flew open and Bodahn stumbled through, cleared vexed—the lines of worry creasing his brow was evidence of that. Gwyneth was standing in front of the dwarf immediately, her movements barely registering with those around her.

"I'm sorry to bother you, messere," he started, handing a folded note to his mistress, "but one of those Tranquil lasses was by the mansion not a half hour ago to drop off this letter. Said it was an urgent message from the First Enchanter. I thought it best if I delivered it to you here."

"Thank you, Bodahn," she said, breaking the wax seal and unfolding the sheet of paper.

The dwarf bowed and left, leaving those of their party in a silence swallowed by the otherwise unaffected din of the tavern. Arais approached her cousin with growing curiosity, only to see a disquieted expression glimmering in her violet eyes.

"What is it, Gwyn?"

"The First Enchanter has requested my presence at the Gallows. Apparently Meredith has taken things too far, and he believes I'll be able to stop this before it gets violent." She sighed, placing a hand over her forehead. "Why me? Why is it _always _me?"

"I used to ask myself the same question during the Blight. It must be something in our blood," Arais responded with a smirk. She sobered, knowing something serious was just over the horizon. "So what are you going to do?"

"Do I have a choice? If we don't go, those two are going to butt heads until someone's skull cracks. It wouldn't do Kirkwall any good to lose either the First Enchanter or the Knight-Commander to this foolishness." She checked her blades at her back, making sure they were secure. "You _are_ coming with me, right?"

"I wouldn't miss it."

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><p>Dark clouds loomed over the harbor as Anders approached the docks. He had wanted to stay behind, ashamed of what Justice had convinced him was the right thing to do. It was for the greater good. Mages would be one step closer to the freedom they were so unjustly denied because of a gift—a <em>curse<em>—that they had no choice in having, all because of what _the order dictated_.

Images of Karl flickered through his mind as the ship that was to carry him to the Gallows docked, the crew dropping the anchor as the plank used to board the ship was laid down. Eyes already empty from a living death met his own as he tried to fend off the memory of thrusting a dagger into the belly of his friend, or of driving his staff into a young mage who had done nothing wrong beyond calling Justice a demon. His fight had been a slew of rationalizations from the beginning, but this went beyond helping a few mages escape, or killing a Templar or two. This was irreversible, unjustifiable, and unforgivable.

There would be no going back once this was done.

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><p><strong>The end is near. That's really all I can say. I guess that's why I've been taking so long with updates. I'm not looking forward to seeing this story end.<strong>


	38. Chapter 38: Intervention

**LOGHAINIC PLOT BUNNY SIGHTING  
>For the definition, go to my deviantART page (link is in my profile) <em>before<em> reading this chapter. You have been warned.**

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><p><em>I swear to you, I will come back and find your precious Anders. I will teach him what true justice is. - Sebastian<em>

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><p>It was quiet. The Knight-Commander's behavior since the Champion's rise had come to color the citizens' view of the Chantry, and Elthina knew it from the steady decline in devout worshippers. Holding on to her impartiality—even when the tensions between the Templars and mages grew more publicized—was beginning to take its toll.<p>

She knew it was dangerous, letting it go on as long as she had. Sebastian's warning from who he claimed was the Divine herself wasn't lost on her, but abandoning what she had vowed to protect was selfish and went against all she had been taught. She could never forgive herself if anything happened here: her safety wasn't worth the lives of thousands.

Aware of her absentminded flipping through the pages of a book, she sighed as she closed it. Her lids were heavy with her day's efforts. Elthina knew that she would have to choose a side, whether she liked it or not. She turned to stare into the eyes of Andraste—a gaze endlessly wise and forever a comfort—praying for guidance.

And the floor became unsteady beneath her.

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><p>Tremors began to shake the earth violently. Gwyneth turned to the Chantry as three beams of light sprang from within, casting a deceptively beautiful pink glow over Kirkwall. The sheer destructive power of fanaticism was tearing the building to pieces as sections broke off sporadically and joined each other in a swirling mass between the columns—seemingly choreographed in its eerie grace. They met in a single, dark cluster at the center, revolving threateningly.<p>

Silence engulfed her for only a moment, time practically standing still before any chance at peace scattered to the four winds with a melodic crack. Debris burned her skin as it rained from the sky—hazy with thick, black smoke.

"Maker, have mercy," Meredith murmured.

"There can be no peace." Gwyneth focused her horrified gaze on Anders, disbelief at his actions clouding her mind. Never in her life would she have thought him capable of… _this_. The sound of chainmail rattling tore her from her reverie, and she resisted the urge to throttle him as reality came crashing down on her.

"Elthina! No! Maker, no!" Sebastian cried, having fallen to his knees in grief. "She was Your most faithful, Your most beloved… Why didn't she listen to me?" Gwyneth was torn between sympathy and annoyance as he stood, beginning to recite verses from the Chant.

She could sense his desperation growing with every word—it was the only thing she could focus on when it mirrored her own so well: though hers was for an entirely different reason. There was no doubt what she heard Anders say was true: there was no longer a chance for compromise, and it was possible there never had been to begin with.

* * *

><p>"You condone this? The brutal death of a woman of faith: someone you <em>knew<em>? Who trusted you?"

Arais quelled her annoyance. She could understand the outrage of the man standing behind Gwyneth, his faith in the Maker fueling his arguments. However, Anders was her friend—she had fought alongside him for months after the Blight, and still trusted him with her life after what he had just done. He spoke of giving his life for it, and seemed truly repentant. Something told her that even though he said it was his decision—that he was now one with the spirit within—Justice was still a separate entity that had a significant influence over Anders.

Gwyneth's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Help me defend the mages."

Anders stood from the crate he had sat on while they had fought off the Templars, turning to face them for the first time since. "You mean… stay with you? I didn't think you'd let me. But if you do, I'll fight the Templars… damned right I will."

"No!" Sebastian stepped forward, his anger more volatile than ever. "You cannot let this abomination walk free. He dies, or I am returning to Starkhaven. And I will bring such an army with me on my return, that there will be nothing left of Kirkwall for these _maleficarum_ to rule."

"Do not interfere, Sebastian," Gywneth ordered, glaring fiercely at the prince.

Protectiveness bubbled in the pit of Arais' stomach, and she was barely restraining herself as Sebastian continued to reprimand her cousin. His words were spoken with such malice, she couldn't simply ignore it. He meant them, and his vow to return and kill Anders felt to her like a threat to all she had left in this world. He turned, ready to simply walk away, every intention to return prevalent in his gait.

She couldn't risk it.

Channeling her mana directly into him, he went still. She could feel all eyes turn to Sebastian as she did the one thing Avernus warned her could prove fatal to her vessel, should it happen: she cut it off from herself, leaving unfiltered mana stagnant within the prince, unsure how it would manifest without her guidance.

He simply stood there at first; swaying slightly on his feet as his body registered the foreign presence. An ear splitting scream soon followed, his hands clutching at his temples before he collapsed, convulsing wildly. What she could see of his face was twisted in agony, blood seeping from his eyes and ears in rivulets that quickly puddled beneath him. A gurgle sent more blood spraying from his mouth as he choked and coughed.

Skin beginning to crack and sizzle, smoke rose from the splits in his flesh and curled from under his armor in puffs. The smell of burning flesh drifted to her, making her stomach churn. She'd had no idea what consequences her decision would have, but she had never imagined anything quite so gruesome.

Face and hands now charred, his body went still. The distant clang of steel and shouts of battle were all that broke the blanket of silence that had fallen over the group. Arais could feel the steady glare of her cousin's lover boring into back of her head, but she couldn't dismiss her rationalizations simply because she should feel some measure of guilt for murdering a man. Alistair appeared beside her a moment later, and she met his uncertain gaze with a blank, listless stare. She felt nothing but satisfaction at protecting the precious few people she held dear, but she wasn't about to share that with them.

"We have to head to the Gallows," Gwyneth said gently, and Arais saw her struggle to avert her eyes from the corpse of her former companion. She stepped forward, placing a hand on the mage's shoulder with an understanding half smile. "Orsino is waiting, and Maker only knows what the Templars have already done to the city."

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><p><strong>I expect to be slaughtered by the Sebastian fan girls. Just so you know, I did <em>not<em> like doing that. It just fit Arais' character development.**


	39. Chapter 39: Preparation

_Is that all it's ever going to be? Are we mages to be forever persecuted for being what we are? The mere act of defending ourselves confirmation of our guilt?_

_What other option do we have? Tell me, Champion, that you have not seen with your own eyes what they can do: heard the lies of mages that seek power._

_I have seen that. Many times over._

_And we must fight such evil! But you can't assume that it exists in us all!_

_I know. And it breaks my heart to do it, but we must be vigilant. If you cannot tell me another way, do not brand _me_ a tyrant._

_- Orsino, Meredith and Hawke_

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><p>Isabela sauntered past the bodies of the various faceless Templars she had felled, growing ever more impatient with the entire issue. How she had managed to become involved in yet another political mess thanks to Hawke was beyond her comprehension, and it irked her that she was powerless to say no, even when she was left to follow Arais instead.<p>

She knew she owed Hawke her life, having been able to track down Castillon only because of her fellow rogue's ingenious faux-betrayal plan. With a sigh, the pirate hurried forward, slowing her pace only when she caught up to Zevran and Merrill. They walked in companionable silence as they kept a vigilant eye open to the threat of more Templars.

"So I see you've found an elven lover to replace me, Isabela," Zevran said, his voice lowered in an uncharacteristic attempt to avoid the other elf's attention. His hand clutched over his heart dramatically, and she couldn't avoid smirking as he continued with, "I'm heartbroken."

"Don't take it personally, sweet thing." She patted his shoulder in mocking comfort, her voice equally as quiet. Though she and Merrill were quite open with their feelings as of late, Isabela still found it difficult to speak words of affection. "It was a complete accident that I happened to fall in love with this one."

Zevran smiled suggestively, causing the Rivaini woman to dramatically roll her eyes. "Why does it not surprise me that the only one capable of stealing your heart was an elven woman?"

"Funny how things work out that way," she conceded, louder than she had intended.

She felt her lover's gaze on the side of her face, and it was all the older woman could do to meet her wide, curious eyes. "Work out what way?" Merrill's eyebrow lifted as she looked between Isabela and Zevran. "What are you two talking about?"

Chuckling a little at the girl's frazzled questioning, she wrapped her arm around her and pulled Merrill close. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it, Kitten." She kissed her cheek, grinning as the elf blushed. "We'll talk privately once this whole mess has been dealt with."

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><p>Lifting a hand to cover his eyes, Alistair shook his head, incredulous. The sight of the monster that had once been First Enchanter Orsino was burned into his conscious, leaving him with horrifying images of just how corruptive blood magic could be.<p>

He peeked through his fingers at the carnage that surrounded him, his eyes lingering on Gwyneth—covered in blood and panting heavily as she hovered over that… thing. She looked just as stunned as he was sure he did. With a heavy sigh, she tore a relatively bloodless swatch off her tunic and wiped the crimson stains from her face, turning when Fenris approached her from behind.

The elf shook his head, distaste apparent in the creased lines of his tanned face, though his eyes were filled with concern. He was speaking to his lover softly, each moment mixing more desperation into his worried gaze. She shook her head slowly as a blood-stained hand lifted to rest on Fenris' cheek, and he glared sternly at her before pulling her against him and kissing her deeply.

Alistair looked away, giving them what little privacy he could as his cheeks flushed. It could very well be their last chance to express their feelings for one another, and he found himself searching among his companions for the one that meant most to him. Though the group had split into two in order to search for the Knight-Commander more efficiently, they had still all found their way to the Gallows—to the disaster that was Orsino's last ditch attempt to protect his people.

Slowly, they congregated around Gwyneth, and Alistair was more easily able to spot Arais. She looked worn down and haggard, but she held herself up with the same confidence that she had always possessed before battle. He moved to stand beside her and placed a supportive hand on her lower back, smiling down at her as she looked to him. There was a darkness that lingered in her silver eyes—having been there since the Starkhaven prince had fallen to her abilities—and yet she forced a smile, trying to shrug it off.

"Since we can no longer count on the First Enchanter for his help," Hawke said, sighing, "we'll have to handle Meredith ourselves. I_ would _suggest we split up again, but that didn't exactly work last time. So, for now, we all stick together, and at least attempt to not kill each other. Do I make myself clear?"

Smirking, Alistair leaned over to whisper into Arais' ear, "One sovereign says Fenris attempts to throttle Zevran before we make it out of the Gallows."

With a laugh, she nodded. "I give him to the door out of this chamber, at best."

"You're on."

* * *

><p>The group moved through the Templar Hall silently, save for the idle chatter between a few of the companions surrounding her. Arais could see Nathaniel and Velanna walking side by side, his shoulders squared in a defensive stance despite the obvious lack of threat at that particular moment. She wasn't surprised, though: she could sense more than see Alistair doing the same for her, and knew that Fenris and Isabela were looking out for their respective lovers.<p>

It warmed her heart to know that even though terrible things had met them all, they were still able to persevere and find love with another, and friendship with those that helped them through it. Even though many of them didn't get along due to differences in opinions over the conflict that had so recently come to a head, no one wished to see the others harmed in any manner: even Fenris had seemed to soften towards mages, to an extent.

Arais caught a glimpse of Zevran as he moved up beside her, his focus somewhere ahead of them. When she caught where his gaze was lingering, she had to hold back the very audible groan that threatened to escape her throat, allowing it to only come out as a vague grumbling noise.

The assassin looked over to her, half grinning at the reprimanding glare she was giving him. "I do enjoy following your cousin, my dear Warden," he began, acknowledging that he knew exactly why he was being looked at in such a manner. "She has a very… alluring grace in the way she walks."

Sighing in frustration, she continued to look at her companion. "Zevran, you'd do well to keep your voice down," she chided, with a pointed look in Fenris' direction.

"Why for?" He looked in the direction her eyes had gone to and smiled. "Are you worried that her elven lover will harm me in some manner?" He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I acted no differently with yourself, and Alistair never acted upon his irritations."

"Yes, but that's Alistair." She covered her eyes with her hands, trying to think of how she could get through to the stubborn fool. She remembered the former slave's reaction to most situations that involved protecting her cousin and went with it. "Fenris is more… well, he wouldn't hesitate to rip out your heart… literally."

"Duly noted," he said, and she couldn't be sure if he was sincere or simply placating her. The man was still as infuriating as the day she had met him, and it amazed her that he hadn't turned on her the day they had run into…

Her eyes widened as she remembered the conversation the two elves had been having at the Hanged Man shortly before the letter had arrived from Orsino. It was then that she realized Zevran was correct: Fenris did sound terribly like someone they had known in the past.

"For the record, I know who his voice reminds you of." He lifted a brow at her, intrigued. "Taliesen."

"That was it," Zevran said with a snap of his fingers, recognition clear in his golden eyes. "That would have bothered me for ages. You never cease to amaze me, my friend."

Arais smiled momentarily, the expression on her face sobering as the exit from the Templar Hall came into view. What lay beyond that gate could very well change the fate of those she traveled with, including her own. There would be no going back from what they had decided, and she only hoped that further bloodshed could be avoided.

However, judging by the worry gathering in the pit of her stomach, she simply knew that wouldn't be the case.

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><p><strong>*hides beneath her blankets in shame* I'm so sorry this took so long guys. Between lack of inspiration in general, and now my father being in the hospital, this chapter took forever to come to me. I'm happy to have it done, and I predict a mere two or three chapters left. I really hope you guys enjoy it, and that I haven't angered anyone to the point of no longer reading. A big thanks goes out to all who have stayed with me despite my really slow updates. I hope they don't take as long next time.<strong>


	40. Chapter 40: Desperation

_Why is this taking so long? Can ones so evil truly be so powerful? Maker, guide your servant. Please, tell me what I must do! What if... I'm not doing the right thing? What if this is all madness? No! I must remain vigilant!_

_- Meredith_

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><p>Steel clashed with bronze. Joints never meant to move groaned with a sluggish pace. Shouts indiscernible over the sound of her voice permeated the din of battle. The stone beneath her feet shook violently, wind slashing across her face as gargantuan blades sliced through the air in elegant arcs.<p>

The soft hum emanating from her blade sang softly within her mind, the haunting melody urging her on. Her lips formed the words that were second nature. She looked upon the battle without truly seeing. The crimson light shining from her blade cast an eerie glow around her in the darkness of the Gallows.

Another statue went stationary once more. The quaking as it crashed to the ground released Meredith from her reverie, and she looked to the sky. Her silent prayers to the Maker mingled with her spoken pleas as she searched the stars for the guidance she so desperately desired. The aria consumed her thoughts once more, and with a sudden clarity she dove headlong into the fray.

She would not falter.

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><p>Arais couldn't break through the Knight-Commander's resistance. Though her ordinary spells were effective against the woman who darted between her companions as she attacked, she was unable to break through the wall that could easily steal the very mana she had attempted to inject into her enemy. She worried that the lyrium that tainted Meredith's mind left her resistant to the effects of the mage's unique ability.<p>

A wolf darted from the shadows beside her, its dark fur an unexpected blur in her vision. With a long leap—lips pulled back in a sneer—its front paws landed forcefully on Meredith's back. She staggered forward momentarily, whirling on her heels once her balance returned and skimming her blade just above her attacker's head. The wolf retreated from its vulnerable position back to the shadows from which it had appeared, and Arais was sure the eyes shone a golden yellow.

Gwyneth's voice jarred her back into focus. The sound of metal scraping on the stone drew her attention to the statue approaching her, an oversized hand colliding with the side of her face before she had a chance to dodge. Her vision flashed white as she skidded across the ground, the feel of the skin beneath her robes tearing the last thing she was aware of before unconsciousness took her.

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><p>A cloud of ice surrounded his target before Anders scanned the Gallows. Knowing he was one of only two healers forced him to keep a vigilant eye on his companions as he defended himself against the onslaught of animated statues Meredith had brought upon them. Justice would spontaneously take control of his vessel when he was running low on power for his spells, rejuvenating him before relinquishing Anders' mind once more.<p>

His gaze landed on Arais lying by the entrance to the Maker forsaken prison. She made not a single movement, and he gave a wide berth to the battle as he hurried over to her. Clearly unconscious, the mage was bleeding heavily from a deep gash along the side of her face. He turned Arais onto her back, keeping an ever watchful eye on the battle to be sure no enemy found their way to him.

Gathering all the energy he could without turning to Justice for aid, Anders focused it over Arais. The flesh knit itself together wherever his hands hovered. When he reached her skull, he could feel the suffocating pressure of a concussion within. He reluctantly drew power from the spirit that possessed him, knowing what little he had left wouldn't be nearly enough to heal such a dire injury.

Able to retain control of his mind, there was a distinct sense of relief when the pressure lifted from Arais brain. With a final burst of effort, Anders was grateful to see his fellow mage's eyes flutter open. Despite her obvious discomfort, she was on her feet in seconds, retrieving her staff and resuming the fight without so much as a glance toward him. Shaking his head, he found himself beside Nathaniel, facing down a slave statue that was making its way over to Gwyneth.

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><p>His blade barely made a dent on the bronze surface of the enemy before him, and Fenris wondered briefly just how much longer the steel could withstand the blows before it snapped. He knew these statues were better left for the mages to deal with, but his stubborn refusal to admit that magic was the only way out of the situation kept him from turning his back on the fight.<p>

Meredith's desperate ramblings became louder and more urgent, and he suppressed the pity that bubbled within at the woman's insanity. She had brought this madness upon herself, and she was reaping what she had sown.

When he turned to look at her, he saw the crazed Knight-Commander burst forward at a sprint, nearly running Gwyneth through with the blade that shimmered like a ruby in the moonlight. Protectiveness overwhelmed him as he rushed toward the madwoman, his blade aimed to strike. With all the force he was capable of putting behind it, he swung his sword toward Meredith, grazing her as she sidestepped the blow. Sparks showered from the edge of his blade as it scraped along her armor, leaving a deep gouge across the chest plate.

With an outraged cry, Meredith began to levitate above the ground, curling into herself as she was surrounded in a cocoon of neon red. A roaring that sounded remarkably similar to that of the wraith they had encountered in the Deep Roads reached a crescendo as the light flared, blinding him and leaving him stunned. He swayed on his feet as he attempted to regain his sight, but all he could do was listening as the crazed woman rambled to her Maker for assistance.

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><p>Her vision began to clear, and it was all Gwyneth could do to keep from falling as she tried to regain control of her limbs. The dual daggers she had been clutching in her gloved hands had clattered to the ground and she knew—as she blinked away the final vestiges of temporary blindness—that she was utterly defenseless.<p>

"I… will not… be… defeated…" Gazing at the Knight-Commander, Gwyneth saw the light that had once surrounded her had now begun to shine from within, and her eyes were now burning with the intensity of her blade. Meredith staggered, clutching her blade before her as she growled, "Maker heed your humble servant!"

The weapon flared brightly, and for a moment Hawke thought that the Knight-Commander's mad ravings had truly been answered. Her suspicions were quashed as the blade exploded in her hands, scattering the pieces across the Gallows courtyard. Her screams echoed in the darkness as a crimson haze seemed to surround her and come from her all at once. She fell to her knees, the exotic tang of lyrium mingling with the stench of burning flesh, and it was all Gwyneth could do to keep from showing her disgust.

As the curtain of light faded and the woman's screams died out, they were left with the shriveled statue that remained of Meredith. She could sense her ragtag group of companions approaching her as the Templars rushed forward, one approaching the corpse hurriedly. She awkwardly examined the corpse that still burned with the lingering effects of the lyrium as the Knight-Captain moved up beside her, his gaze falling on Hawke. A silent command sent the Templars backward, opening the way to the exit. Turning to her party, Gwyneth was met with thirteen understanding pairs of eyes.

And they ran.

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><p><strong>FFFFUUUU- What is this, I don't even... ._.<strong>


End file.
